Hitherto
this sylph this azimuth
construed
a dome sewn
w/
tracers. Clatter above
from carpenters
stumbling
on roof
beams, rafters. A ship upturned
was
ripped & scuttled, filled
w/
stones. Bang Bang! Nikita
Maximalist.
Firehosing plaster
from
our lips. Spitting in
our
pinstriped eyes unsealed
“2
global & searing themes”: How
our
laughter resembles monsters’
rough uncut
garnet stuckness of
children’s
slitthroat scabs unearthed
power. (“Now
either you are
a
personality (especially
a
personality of such magnitude)
or you
are not.” (Mayakovsky))
Only 2
faint stars
&
the occasional booms. They come
in ones
or twos or threes. Then there are
minutes
of quiet. Dark blistered blocks
of
listeners murmuring on rooftops
What is
the make of gun Mayakovsky
used on
himself in lieu of vinegar
&
sponge. Autarchic. Father
father
in the future, maybe
you want to watch TV forever?
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