The Inhale (13)

A Memory

for mouths. remember the taste of the burning dollar bill, the mossy ember. the inhale.
meant it differently than the other, but they were both beautiful men with spouts
one poet said, and then as if in response: charnel house, said another. one
search from time to time. in the dark off-ness, what does one find? charnel house
it was somehow meditation. felt nothing searched. still search. we still
die. later, on holly street, i used my hands to break plates against the wall and
why not others were doing it and if a man can — again, why not? and i did not
in relation to every man — an impossible task. when i was thirteen i did a thing because
that makes them special. i of course mean me, but think about my self
state of things the big ones derivative in their not caring much about anything;
i interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to wonder about the current

Wikipedia Poem, No. 57

“Politanna / meaning / London / of the the official blasting statement”


     where he 
groping to doubt 
Inter-terrorism invests in the
       apparent the safari 
being Wested to her man 
      controlled Shiraz Master
      Radicalizations of note: nothing no de facto captors 
fighting for operation and several 
beheaded for threats 
          against a
change   his stages
shocked by the University secret service and a desultory government

Nicole, 22, a victim of safari  
      with a degree in theater gave her nickname as Politanna 
	of the official blasting statement.