- a collaborative poem, begun by JK and picked up by myself (at the
visually obvious point), part of an ongoing sequence hope it contributes
usefully,
k
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Mon, 27 Oct 1997 18:39:10 -0500 (EST)
From: Keston Sutherland <[log in to unmask]>
To: John Kinsella <[log in to unmask]>
Subject: tentative, ,
Naff or Language signifiers are fucking boring
(lyric overlay for Beastie Boys number)
aka typos mutatis mutandis
as the scientists didn't reciprocate
with a series of lectures, puh, puh, puh,
lacklustre contra echo-locating the numbers,
furtive zhee notes fronting the shirt
& extensive slurring, a tendency to take
air, note-ending as if, & gradually
the twink & tseet & the tupe of the group
looking up, & thumbing the index
for a collective, localities of Moscow
where Promptoff might be phrasing
coelebs or gengleri, as each is composed
of what? Or silence for the speaker,
Cage all busy and whistling on or out
of his elbow - ho, ho, ho, all surreally
gestating silence as if words aren't enough -
fuck his submissiveness and things
always going wrong like the apocrypha
carnivore head & shoulders consumed
by the rest, frequently imbibing
basilar membranes with efficiency
out of tune with their size: take
Chrysotis amazonica, subsong,
mnemonics catchcrying
acclamations of authenticity,
the word, the boring shock troops
how much more
efficaciously, given their up and anti
bomb pellet pop. Nothing can
to nothing
rise and shindig
faith has a pissed
away, foul
budget of love for bin-transparency. It's ironic, much needed
blood reverts, right
now as he's sheathed to his head
and he limps
from a cheaper hell and bonded in blandness
alone to frozen goat-heat.
Need as you may, and you
may as well use
of ready rusted
sake is bound:
no shit, fag snaps or
jumped up second-comings for you
fumble and screech in placid anti-manurance changelessness.
Confused with joy and kindness. That lack
is so absolutely prosthetic, isn't it, it's reeking.
Around the stretch and acrid
latch of her teeth, verba currunt wing
footed
and web
are a plastic feast too
waived and stray to
shrink from I love
what I should love
not to love and wish to hate.
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