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has inklings of rêve o' vers, mers veillent, bicycles & etcefutura plume causes indigestion, or worse, when tickled in microsoft browser.
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near north12/3 since i cast my log into this bog of gab, i have been quagmired, fallen, fallen behind, on my behind, oggling unripe plumes, luminous palms (as those neon greens wading in the swing by touchless carwash on clark avenue as it falls, falls into, or by, as into a bayou, ridge road, take that abridged, or dye, digress elsewhere if you wish, pick a link that suits your color’s plume, crow as crows do), and have said nothing of many things i heard, merely mentioned one overheard, for hearing is what i do, so let it fall, as rain does, as snow does, as dove dies, on deaf ears, if you please (my plume is for lease, no less than a sedan, now, who’d drive that, derive that form from the formula, as any mighty mathemagician might, dive into it, swamped as you are, but drive a lamp! up my wall). hence to the point. since last i cast my goal into this gobbled bag of dabbed coals, i slipped, as tongues do, and said nothing, to say the least, of such hearings as, by and by, as in a drive-by shouting, shy bemouthing, as dan beachy-quick1 pottery that beseeched my left ear along with peter streckfus2 crockery that fell right where it heard (see bee low, or see bellows if you prefer, it’s not my way to tell, to tell you what to do, you look at what you find cool, or, like, well, once more derailed); or porcelain performed on fine-tuned drums by conun (hear as you do, read forwards and backwards, perhaps by some chance this will make sense, i wish it made cents, i’m rather broke this time of day, like an earless pot that never made it to the stream), here i mean, kerri sonnenberg3 & the mag that spells which ever witch each way (such as con, rum, und, nude, drum, cur, mur, dun, cod, don, nun, rund, cum, nod, dune, nor, ond, and so on), that puts on stage such famed potterers as lewis warsh4 who whips his audience with swabs of puns, repeats what ripe to eat or twice as reaped, or jesse seldess5 who toils in coils of hymnic rhythms; so. since i last grabbed this doggerel by the ear, garin cycholl6, true to his name6, read as red is, in unheated basement biography section of the myopic scrolls, set on the roll, cobwebs and icebergs in the corners, spoke, as if on a bicycle, of karl may in winter once upon a winnetou, of black holes in midillinois where grows in rows what goes in other wars, let’s drink to it, who knows, perhaps. since last the drab bar dared to draw brewed drink and since the ink spilled upon this beau blog was merely virtual, albeit each bite had its virtue, each its vintage, all went and left, now right, now straight, up in smoke, such calm spread over the text, read or unread, i’d dread to speculate, blinded as bespectacled, what would you hear were you here, were you even real (now the absent rose in sorrowed strokes of worse prose than pseudo-cicero conned in dramatic pose). repete it if you could. what follows is a message without a sponsor, pondered over sonorous pore, the snobbed bus supped with the scribe who sobbed over the bossed pod of double oak. i merely overhear, daringly wear my weather gear, boots and gloves, tubs and bowls, wool shawls and washed tools, who could tell anvil from the hammer, gotterdämmerung (and, did he answer? no, he stayed silent for three weeks in his misspelled silo, sipping sleak lentil soup, he missed me not, as only a knot might, killing while after while, awaying hour of hour, tilling choral works as willing rocks chored. and, then what did you do? i broke the phone in two, cored enough to peal, sliced the cord for pleating, and tuned the grill to laugh). 1 :: bid quaky chance 2 :: perfectest rusk 3 :: broken gren siren* 4 :: shrew wails** 5 :: seedless jess*** 6 :: chilly garçon 12/3 dorsal indorsement of remorse code * cf. Louis Aragon :: Urania Logos, in his unclassified Paysan de Paris, spake of pipe sirens of green floating till the break of dawn. ** as if each turn were the last. *** well, what does one do, quantipled, quadruple letters leave not much choice in the matter. . 0 Comments:est. feb. 5, 2004 A.D. |
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