Sunday, May 15, 2005


Smoker's cough, curl, paradise of flames fretted a fundament o’er. Upside down the desert shield cradled the metropolis, new twins. Medusa’s writhe. In what sense is town down? Then the “floating city” with its “floating McDonalds” and “fuel rods,” a vision from sandy shore, long sticks flying out to touch base with new rubble. Confidence in the sublime from the afterburner’s got your back. You can see a good guy’s eyes in the memory of his disgraced father. Tantrum of the A’s: Achilles, Alexander. Dead friends’ caul. An un-American precision schools me in homotropic favors. Got your back? Flank ‘em? Identify with the sky for a lofty traumatist’s eye.

We built this city and its wilderness of spheres. Airspace. From a cockpit likens the metallic sea to the skin of a sunken vessel. Force majeure marines me on the isle of Goose’s grave: subordination’s best. Tailspin builded a tower from which maidens toss their petals. Megabass vibrating the thin walls of the multiplex. Night brings up a refinery in turnpike mirrors. Home’s an epic crawl on a bedroom wall. I dreamed of virtuous hookers. I dreamed “lake of fire” was a metaphor. Awakened by a bullet aimed straight into the sky.

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