“All homes are home; mirages
everywhere. Aside from
gravity, there are no
limits,
never were, nor will there ever
be,
no here and there to foil
your lotus-dreaming
legend.”
(Are You? by Dorothea Tanning)
she liked junk – spills oozings
trash tossed from moving vehicles – “It’s an American trip to
take a huge joy in wasting
things.”
(Cady
Noland)
junk was home
walking talking junk
trash in moving vehicles everyday
he looked arOund casually
to see if others might see what
he saw
but eyes werent aroused
or bugged
they were averted
or staring blankly . . . inured
desensitized
how?
he had no choice his eyes were witnesses were hyperaware
he trusted what they told him
he listened to his eyes . .
. his ears their lovers . . . his brain twisted between
their orgy
starved for gulps for air . . .
blue cool air
not scorched red and raw . . .
blue air
to assuage their swollenness
his eyes and ears. . . feasting at each other . . . in that
brilliant coloured Orgy of
Roaring Senses embarrassing the Shy
the
Faint
the Effete
slapping their cheeks to colour
pinching their nipples and
asses
groping between their coy
spread legs
ah the wet the shiny
the smell the heat . . .
the harbors of roiling sex
belittling reality . . .
bruising
roughening it up
trying to make it see . . .
Sunnyday, 6 6.
10
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