« FRAGMENT ONE - bamboo book | Main | FRAGMENT TWO - bamboo book »
June 17, 2000
THE DAY - bamboo book
THE DAY
...
Heels are safe or so they say. In underwear scooting down the pigs. Corn girls cowgirls on tape. Wonder if I'll have that dream again. Brushing wires with this calligraphy you won't report changes cause you won't remember. The flags the other glories the wind the helical I've made with those recycled coke cans.
AWAKENING, TODAY
...
It is in the rings methane burns an endless chant. It is in the young driver no much for those overpriced toys. And in the old ladies hair sunken in their moods, hands open on the shorelics. And later in the morning, later by the benches, sitting on the days.
WINDOW, TODAY
...
Its coming anyway its coming over peeking gardens for the night to all the boys wondering and wavering from the bushes. See the pool see them in a proper scheme economically and per formatively, as it has to be. Product and platform yell at the Greeks greeting the fashion police to me you fire engine. Possibly in the range of 500 of our best recipes we'll find one that suits the queen in her day of summer. Procedurally yours.
LUNCH, TODAY
...
I lie on my good side. Her green cap on the grainy beach fields. In AutoFit rows the scribe is the gun required. Disposable heroes rest. This is. Influence the audience. Here is there, entry post, the guardian. Folding my crosswords way out. Just. Inking the young. Injured. One of them. I'm busy with the goods today. So you are.
AFTERNOON, TODAY
...
Some of the midrange on with the poke. Today for public display. No wristwatches the auctioneer. No gaps for The Jinx I promised. This is called Ana. Young for cheap space-opera, the chorus in line, all brands, all deers. At the time when you are born with father and the Council, just getting compact just getting dense just filtering.
RIVER RUN, TODAY
...
Stained by dead horses stained the warm sky blinding you burning your fingers of dead horses I used to walk breaking the waters spoiling the suds along your ankles wide shut mouth open of dead horses Spoonful in summer welcome the gray breathe me the smell of dead horses Pick up your bag throw in the money buy me today wait one more day don't hesitate at using the special and later on give girls a facial give her the hollow open the cage untie the collar soothing my nails halo-in the chore giving it up handing the bones of dead horses Sitting across by dead horses Stained with the blood of dead horses.
SUNSET, CHANTS, TODAY
...
A hundred jobs some of which when he was a kid. One he kept the longest was lifesaver in a prive' club in Corinto, Greece. Guarding a bunch of half billionaire torsos sitting on bamboo chairs on the shore, the waiters in red, scooting over the round tables that was a luxury. The ladies coming down for an eyeball one-gin martini one-vodka martini and a red lucious eyeball reptile. They get it so well, the blood you can smell. It breaks up to sailormoon the IBM shareholder who complains he tried to be funny. This it was new. They have called him Peeley, the Bug, Spider, Embrace-me. Sophia called him Ana. The halo reminds me of the stories by the beach-pool, Greek fountains land of the lizards, he is sitting on his chair, mute and alert, streaming at the pale half submerged aseptic bodies, speak the total on the phone, buy me sell me hold me. He lived there 6 months. I believe.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at June 17, 2000 04:43 PM
