Sunday, April 4, 2010

Whistle Then, My Rabbit like This

Let’s Tumble the Body in an Egg [an Easter Egg for Sabri]

"The Weathers Fine / It's just what They say" – Sam Prekop

I had considered giving up, on what you said, but I decided oh I started something different. I wilt like sour youth in Spring, in the Sac. When I’m alone, I close my eyes, & there is a Tie, dangling seductively on one toe, but it is the Woman’s inviting black hair that topples me over, there. Thus, heave me. Known & larger gross Buildings–the designs of people weeping–changing nothing. “Hush, hush, adhesives.” If you want to come, whistle then my rabbit like this: I am nibbling on the floor peddling a Verse, honking the Nervous, I’m hunted in a bedroom. Thank you my dear, for your Company with everything well considered. Tacky thing is, I’m working from a Children’s Gawk yet have been dealing with the problematics of an Octogenarian’s Lament: “But who shall comb my Hair, when I forget?” Hide your Egg-Beaters this time. My Facial Wipes is a Tunnel with five Enclosed Stitches. I wish to encase them, as you, in my static & creaking hair. Desirous all. Pile into & lump within mine Cavity, for once I too desired sleep. “If you are desiring to shudder, however, you have come to a wholly irreverent Easter party.” Walking & waking carefully, besetting the bar of sunlight from its uncertain plate, together we, my dear, shall line our pariahs with pathogen. I wilt sour. I. I’m working from & into & lump to consume, however, everything. “Hush, hush, adhesives.” The strange thing is, is certain Days in this weather’s Monstrosity, I’m undeniably isolated within my own Skin. Concrete in a Single Gulp. Listen then my rabbit like this: It gets easier, the Pull towards the dark smiles which open Lushly for those who can stand, outwearing their Body’s possum. & it is there, where I’ll uncoil if you Hold me within that song had came in my mouth already. The sun, still has not scooched out from that Veil that covers our city’s Portrait, but I remember that the Lace of your Hair that Frames in the moonlight, stops the people awe. “Hush, hush adhesives.” There are portraits of me Frozen, caught up in a Tongue & I could swear I was caught laughing but tonight I feel like an empty tub of Butter. Desirous all. The City devours toothless isn’t Deep enough. Thus, I’ll encase the Walls with a shipment of possibilities. Yet how paralyzing, everything that goes by & everyone that passes in Face encased, in the streets, I look in, just to sneak a peek to remember that it Terribly Hurts & it does & it feels as redundant as choosing which Side of the Empty Bed, at night, to descend within. “Hush, hush adhesives.” I’m told that tomorrow, I’ll Rise again, thirsty, my Nose in the City where I’ll ascend to Glory. But listen, I understand your cheeks burn from the Force of the Prostration of Bodily Damage. If you don’t see the Answer just yet in Text, I’ll Tuck & then Tissue you in Sleeve. Come & be who Eats…thus, with me, slowly, close your eyes, open your Mouth, press your Nose to Mine & Whistle with me now, my Rabbit like this: It’s still seething a Frame shuddering we Thunder in Storm is Chicago, but tomorrow: The Fucking Sun.