cursing the obscurity

Cursing the Obscurity

Why can’t everybody settle down, relax, have a nice simple

girl from nowhere with sugar cones instead of boobs,

her slipping down, whirling around and vanishing in the pipes?

With warm white china with a single band of gold around,

all I came up with was a raggy blue cover with bleeding type

sewing a swaddling cloth, sewing a shroud. I think they go to

the hands of any man. Whatever it took—knife blades or

dipsomania, and my six weeks of being a dyke, all of which

are stacked to the rafters, but no one will buy them--

maybe it’ll taste bad, but it’s only for one night. We can

invent, distribute, proctor, read, grade, and destroy

it by constant handling, by the exposure to air.