there is light in my garbage
I know not from whence it springs, large and unseemly
places inside of places
black coffee, rum, and constructions
of badly sculptured cigarettes
what the fuck do you think you are
some kind of fucking cowboy
some hipster detritus
pastiched from a world that has
equalized virtue
imagized virtue
virtue responds:
hey, I shine, as if shining
would ever be enough
to burn the sugar and mix the paint
emerge into intrinsic value
submit to extrinsic death
the doom-that-comes-from-without
perhaps bogie plays the role of bogart
in celestial noir; perhaps the cake
perhaps the painting
consume themselves:
exchange of value and virtue
rusting wheelwells on the river-bottom
are playgrounds for the fish
contextualized by water
they breathe themselves
I wear waves like fins
oxidized on my cowboy's brim
disclosing:
a hundred years too late
to exist
the body of the eye
No comments:
Post a Comment