XXXIII. Ass in My Palms, South State St., 1989
Two Big
Bitches Striped in a Deviled White
City. What is Postmodern about Forming a Scene, is the way I Will have made null and void the
Scene presented. in other words: this is Wholly American. This Desire is the Pigeon that Deceives. I Fell into the Eyes of my Father in Worn
Circles. A Jamoke would keep this Scene
going, but an American would Ensure
this Scene Vacant. Finally, our Ability
to get the fucking Facts Straight, fucking Fail. The ‘It’
of ‘this’ (and) ‘In’ City. Meanwhile,
I am Crossing the Clark Street Bridge, Giggling with my Nose in your Hair. At the same Time, I Know that the Clark
Street Bridge should be Avoided, since, but a Year-Ago, a Young Man, while
leaving Work, was Shot in the Head at Point-Blank
Range, but on the Flip-Side there is
a Vantage-Point to looking at your
Subject from the Ground-Up which
lends a Charming Omnipotency, if and
when, you Utter: “Oh, God No…”
Everything that Constructs this, Comes
from the Action of Continuing a
Desire to Build from the Ground-Down. This thought, was an Act in a Fit, which is
an Affirmation that, Although I am not
Divine, I am indeed Alive. This
Nulling, Answers Two Big Bitches Striped in a Deviled White City while one ruin Stripped
in the Back and blu. This is a Correspondence Displeased with
Pleasure. Every Hand is still Searching
for the dunk. And this dunk,
my Friend, has fucking Arrived.
