I’ve been here my whole life still I’m somewhere else.
The whole plummeting through space thing.
The song that can’t be listened to without pathos become bathos.
The whole is it the other way round? thing.
Someone is claiming he’s invented a new fist.
The trampoline’s been around a long time
but we’re still held down, held back.
Can history be changed by blinking fast?
There are people who do absolutely nothing all day.
I’d hate to hamper their equipoise or depression, whatever.
Dominic, though, that little twit, I’m ready to twist apart.
The believers in idiot babble of children talking to paper dolls.
But one of the golden moments was when I went to April’s studio
and she was welding copper star after star,
I pretended to descript for a magazine
when I just wanted to fuck her
right there among the fat dashed-down sparks
holding onto their hot thoughts.
What did I care what do I care what will I care?
No one has to rehearse to be a child
but it takes practice to disintegrate.
Is my intention the abandonment of intention?
Is that how we get absolved and become pollen or talc
instead of gargoyles in a sea of dwarfs?
I hope they leave me in the road
to be run over another hundred times
so even my hips open like wings.