a tree breeze. relaxing
like the other grandchildren
of immigrants. these words
must work themselves out when we
go to Ogunquit, show that I’m
no bastard of disjunction
nor architect of erotica. lies!
architecterotica. it’s a scrumptious aesthetic
or feeling or abrasion or
whatever, intangible
until I say it, trans
late it onto his cheeky
stomach. here are the
remaining timeslots
for chair massage today:
by means of exploiting my
relationships with The Eastern and
The Western. these London-looking
buildings look like me. they know I’ve
lost 8 pounds today. p.s., hunger
is the root of all crankiness—
now I’m posing as appropriation,
bottom-heavy.
