from: The Science of Forgetting |
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(cover art by Thaddeus Conti)
Ars Memoriae to experience a thrill zone or a patina approaching rembrandt the mnemonist takes a truncheon for a hat
The Science of Forgetting to take part in tumult in a place or shining, getting close to Tiepolo, the mind of the one who forgets all out of his pants fall genitals
Preface to a Near Full Moon in the ear of hypnotized sleep the corked bottle is knocked over a series of giant tarantulas pass one after the other the transparent apple dreams of lace & down feathers “Here’s to us!” neither Paris nor Homer can say it better the oak the almond the juniper hold the allure to this waking weather folding back the bedsheets souvent je n'ai rêvé que de toi seule
Epilogue To A Far Empty Sun or Eclipse of The Hunger Moon Out of the eye of thoughtful waking The open vacuum isn’t erected A random set of tiny lizards Surpass one another Opaque kiwi realities Of hems, not upscale jewels “There I am!” Both London and Callimachus Can’t erase anything worse This lack of acorns, empty worlds, gin Drops the cracking of this sleeping absence Unfolding forth the rickety chair’s drop cloth My aunt reveals her self An off key person cackling like you
The Divas of Akroitiri there's a risk of good will which is vulgar and which does not allow my tastes to interfere with the accident of beauty forthwith the rise of bread baked during winter a range of savory peanut snacks a sheep's sorrel even in some cases a bird bath or a sousaphone in one's own home
The Divas of Akron, Ohio bad indecisiveness isn’t dangerous but it’s quite elite & lets you be a butninsky about the definiteness of ugliness whatever the downfall of a casserole of bullfrog a firing range of sweets rice cakes - the lamb’s a wolf no, that’s never true a therein to bathe by a pigeon pie in every oven
Locus Pocus look at painting as you would in a mirror growing backwards giving an eye for an ear repudiated goddess omniscient massage librarian anyone can become autonomic and ne’re a thought more daresay every intention by which splendor arrives petitioning the sun west of the Himalayas for whom yellow is blue
The Magic of the Monkey Bars don’t look at a black hole as I wouldn’t a stuffed room shrinking toward you withholding nonsense for gibberish loved she-devil ignorant crumpled book-hater no one can not be enslaved always goofing like a dickhead I won’t say a single extension without which squalor never comes & the moon never knows east of the feminist stand-ups for whom purple is orange
Circe’s Lament all the words are taken I've made sure of that burying them under stumped trees whatever else you can't find can be found inside a glass jar of pickled meat plotted by a universe whose hands call forth verso after verso the milky lights o ereshkigal of irkalla, eldest sister of ishtar, queen mama of nungal's half-siblings, namtar and ninazu, what music do you desire? are humans a species worth living? please whisper in fatalistic french so I’ll know which animal will befit their fate
Eric’s Joy none of the unsaid is given you’ve not known its unearthing above gnarly roots nothing you lose can’t be lost again outside a whiper-ish strewn tidbit of rotting vegetable untapped map of a black hole those silent feet go backwards recto a.d. recto the slimy darkness as if that guy koresh were from iraq, youngest brother of the rat king, dad of lagnun’s 2nd cousins once removed moon rat and another nin what chance atonality don’t I hate? aren’t zombies to be annihilated? do shout out in random syllables so the not-I won’t know all the rocks are wrong for any beginning
Ode to Neap Tide suffered from shipwreck fever &/or the plurality of worlds everything is to anyone an agent to dispose of aboard the man o’ war neither rejoicing isles of palm & myrrh nor carried by sail & oar but as profile in a flat vortex when the sun and moon are at right angles fleshy edible white and yellow their carved faces make lanterns for the damned who return to Bagdad
I Hate the Tides took pleasure from docking pitch & the singleness of utopia nothing ain’t to no one an unconcerned citizen who’s joined Grannies-for-Peace to separate both peninsulas unbalanced by nonviolent protest but as hazy view in a squiggly maelstrom when the darkness & night sweats aren’t anywhere near each other their mushy about-faces tear apart more darkness for the blessed sent forth to make an easter island peace
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