Wednesday, October 27, 2010

mcclxxviii

Extinguish the gingerbread as seen from a broad.

            we have unity
            in spades
            temps with perms
            the pace of a sphinx

                —Alan Bernheimer

The rim of your mouth
is crisp to the touch.

Such is the desert on a
spoony afternoon.

I’m swallowed up.   Fucked up every-
where with a slight headache,

but angst-ridden mice sometimes find
Xanax-laced cheese.

My quest is neither
endless, nor a fight to the death.

I’m only here for the money.   Spirits
generally higher than the weak.

Sobbing her eyes out because
she lost the audition.

I wonder if they serve quesadillas
at Quetzal.   One might imagine....

Sedation is such a cautious
killer, isn’t it?