i weigh a wed nor toward
A
Pigeon coo is Forming into an Eloping Beat all over the City: a fucking Beast of zero:
a Palm, a Gap, to Engulf, this Threft.
Something Slips, most Possibly, my
Desire, which Shifts, Amongst the
Sigh, in a Line, of the Question: ‘Who Gots
that Ass?’ Oh, it is But-I, Rumbling
towards in a Motional Sound akin to
Brambling-about the Question, which is Ass. That this has Dove into a Question of a Pigeon, Insensibly Past, without Ass, Save by a Promise of Disaster, or the Disastrous Absence I Might have
Become. That I Approach this EL, each
Morning, Unless Death Becomeths the Solution, I Emerge, to zero-in and on some days. I am on the EL, as
Such, Irredeemably Calm and “Baby, I Be
Unseen.” And Here, I am thinking, Happily,
of that Mancini-Kim Fight, which of course, went Awry: a Face, a Fist, a Head, a roar
and the Manic, Determined Movement of the Body which Succeeds a Death that Makes, a Fold, in the Crowd, into the gasp and the gasp nevertheless Beautifully Embodies, the Movement, the
Death, the Head, a Fist, a Face and the Mother.
‘Mãe, Minhas Bolas Azuis.’ That
your Absence, Becomes an Excuse Emanating from the Lips: an Oprening.ß--------------------------àAnyhoo: What we
Seek, is a Joy Worth Mourning. And this is a Sorrow that Proves, that
nothing is every ‘paid in full’. And when I Die, Perhaps, it will be at the
Exact Moment, that you Finish this Cadential
Cleaning of my Face.
