Thursday, July 8, 2010


automatic poem for secrets and secrets (2010, in a sweat-soaked collared shirt.)

a cold shower every hour

the return to the worst real life,
orchestrated in a stylistic sway
a simple scratch on the cheek
a circle scrawled and a V

we spoke, o countrymen, on your
behalf! - we say, fumble through
the act, clinical and quick!
own terms, degrade! our hollow
shame - your hidden agenda!


we read to recognize, as if better feeling
forbid! arbitrary and inadequate, as if
an engagement with the expert
sitting clever,
folding conversation into neat shirt sleeves
the populace sophisticate,
somewhere rustles

a miraculous sneak
on one bended knee

us, a collective parody
to believe in
nothing like that.

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