Saturday, October 20, 2012

95 Romances for Canadian Readers

It was taken some time ago, inside the wooden outboard,
all along. You say: Now it is more accurate: Us they thee: huh?
Outrageously beautiful rooms, snug underground in the civic worm
Burrowing. You want to be hammered on anvils and shaped in fire.
Do not operate without aside a bit and, with your tongue
that is longer than your arms, it is dark and soft, skates tossed over
my shoulder. Who’s there? The courtyard. Faster.
The door is at the end of the hall on how much control do you think
the writer has over the, each cell a tiny pool, feeling language in me
differentiate poetics from literary theory. Hassan claps, and (tah-dah)
an Arab lass at a swank for the artificial product of a precision.
So what if you found your house that had seen it and felt it…
it all goes beyond stall oxen, sickle or scythe sterling morsels muscles
in matters horny toadies as I gasp and I am gasping and bleeding away
episodically thrust downward to reveal “fountains.” Be a letdown
Always match cleverly that you’re not of her herself! Outside that!
There are doors in the walls of your nation which can be locked,
the blinds on the that when one morning my head, the door open wide
and the all-night Greek and in part you are, he is always reading
statistics over breakfast; cotton hand. Wouldn’t it just loose.
Then camisole, white shorts. What is ordinary is not possible anymore.
The billboard with the women tall, ruminations troubling my informant:
(some) other ill-powerful by sleet that washes ride late night. Got kid
deep in this dimlyness. Fog on the sofa two lovers, the tin shed
the oily grass smell of the mower light, told Mikimoto that he himself
had attempted to or scared enough he’d always spoken of purpose.
Tilt the victim’s fragile egg, said my name like it mattered. Showed me
your mother had in their assemblies, in lambic filiations.
Maurice orders French police to attack illegal but peaceful
demonstrations of cabbage cattle, suspend tatters for the better part
of a week, slice of wood? I was proud of myself.
Perhaps it wasn’t a tanker. Frog stops. Misters of techabye fixit,
where did the world go? The UFO score heard through of a minimum
rather, our writer should bloxlemox yes no, gut flora yes no
and spend it all on his children. With sad news from home—
partly in cold and windy showers before tulippsulpit. The space
of 7 acres. There is an elaborate gate. those who have used the following
techniques of seduction: small that has been free of students,
blurry sunset, look deep as she rivers her feelings. Her thumbs river.
Her feel—flick of a wrist, tug of tether, blast of rock, will gaff you,
a nest of my ordinary thighs, and I think of the wind. The outspread world
is xylophones nougat goo. Pancake fold vocal, garble lullaby:
twisted in Mixture 69—I have become sullen and bitter in Cedar Cove,
which could on a fragile tightrope seek pay dirt, to the North Pole
to the west coast of Vancouver fumes smeared violet like this.
Father, when you died you left me each year at first snow
and antlers of a moose sporting a black eye patch over his left eye
the negative spaces on or around or under
rachel whiteread or bruce nauman andor ‘Trader Joe’s chilli whips
the Costco Martha Stewart’s ass.’
Bertolt comes dressed in lipstick shades named debt.
Grasslands culpable steadfast. A love is standing up—
Now can I help you with your wars?

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