Like adding a codicil, make what you will of this. There is too much everywhere. Philosophers do not observe, they preach. Drop the PR, it’s not like they need it, be refined, take some T and 1day so many books are written with misleading titles—or a little miss-leading titles, yes. Unglabrously in pursuit of some chair, academic-high digging or reaching for the dominant cover, they piss in each other’s pockets. Even holy, even holy water, even to get rid of the hiccups, drink a glass of jatem, I used to say when it was upside-down, or retaw just plain backwards. Causes very controlled breathing which is key to losing the hiccups, shutting out the diaphragmentary contusion. Inhale, slowly as if forever. As if underwater under a sheet of ice which is where you may as well be, in the sea, in the holy see slipping through electron holes which I am told have an ontological status as that of electrons themselves. It’s all about happiness, in pursuit thereof.
It is, it is frightening, it is attractive too, it attracts. How will I be? 1day?
(street—editorial amendation townhouses bow
lingering
ally the color red
or patch gated
instruction
i trashed
but retrieved a little miss steak
too blasé because by then
bygones were not
and you were history
in oh so many senselesses
an egret
“ardea alba”
is but one that comes back
sonic boomerang
is not a regret
because the egress was
do not have
i never turn back
do not hope to turn again
which is the most arduous thing
the toilest
the poet of the lines just above
spelled backward.)
One day, wonda why.
Oh, the little picture is a tiny detail from the wizard between the legs. Rumor has it (okay, no one is talking) that it is writing on the wall.
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