Thursday, April 26, 2012

Lakey Comess

First snow

           deceives you into imagining pure space, though treachery undercoats black ice.

Polish defence of diminished capacity — it's almost believable, but at odds with logo led
cultural theory. How many women left you in tears? Curiosity dictates the question. You're
thinking strategy, objective attention. We know how you lie.

Sometimes tongues make sharper weapons than pinpoints of light.

It's as abrasive a sound as you will ever hear — practice doesn't always make for perfect.
Now there is a real blotch on the copybook. It looks like coffee. Here was a private address
gone public and here is a white, open place on a matchstick. I can dance there, too. So could
you, if you had a mind to in your next orbit, skirting explanation.

You have difficulties considering bloody knives following textual assassination. Or is it
asinine textualisation which follows technological surgery?

Your feathers appear freshly laundered as new punctuation.


All these bon mots

Affronted? No, only weary. Affront was eclipsed by a barrage of righteous viciousness.
"Don't look for a reason," says flesh of your flesh, reasonably. "Bullies don't need reasons to

In other words, electrodes clamped onto wrists, forehead, pulse points cannot do justice to
pain printed out on long sheets, graphed maps, peaks of torment, your nasty Himalayas.

Step and goose-kick with others, happy in the thick of it, whirling in throng,
protected by numbers, anonymity lined up for kill. What a racket.

How humble the raised fist, what lost idealism, crushed innocence.

Comparisons are odious, comparing fist to size and shape of owner's heart,
small and narrow. An x-ray will bear out the truth of this, bare the statement.

Now you can truly see — as well as hear — the size of the space you occupy.

Wrap sock around fist for a perfect fit.

Put rock in toe of the sock for a perfect weapon.

It damages, but doesn't break skin.

Choices are uncomfortable, given certain dimensions.


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