thursday night i’m making vice

turun dari cerobong asap
menyelinap lewat oven ukuran industrial
menyapa koki koki dengan topi miring tak peduli
pada coreng hitam di muka kami
terus berjalan ke belakang bar
menyapa lisa gadis penjaga gorengan
two scallops and a banana fritter please!
tangan di saku dagu ditegakkan
weezer pinkerton world tour 1997
sebelum aku bertemumu
sebelum hidupku jadi sekantong susu
basi! hanya baris panjang malaikat malaikat kecil
bergandeng tangan menyanyi across the sea!

The key to the lock is stuck on the back cover with an old sticky tape

seperti waktu kecil melihat catatan harian kakak sepupu
yang tinggal bersama kami, asmatik, sayang, belum masanya
fish-pose untuk mengembangkan bunga bunga di paru parunya,
membaca tentang andika si jago elektronika yang memeluk pun
tak bisa, erik si dungu yang mungkin setia, batara yang sama sekali
tidak seperti namanya, ya, seperti itu, semacam keringatan yang tertunda
tersendat di kuduk saja, semacam tangis yang hanya gerimis, bukan,
mungkin hanya neptunus menimba air sumur di bantalan awan
sebuah dunia yang bukan milikku, lembaran lembaran kertas
merah muda dengan tulisan tulisan rapi dari kiri ke kanan
kadang kadang ada ilustrasi amatiran: lokomotif kereta api
dengan asap yang membuat gumpalan gumpalan hati.

C’est pour toi!, golden child of the corn!

i guess in the corn fields of yr dreams

there are blackbirds

and scarecrows made of cast-off GAP overalls

do you think

if you quit trying to stay in just the one hut

you will hold the blackbirds

in the palm of your hands

and yr scarecrows will be retrofitted

in dior homme S/S 2009?

Les quatre cent mille coups

around the time ekskul won ffi 2006 i fired off an email—can you really fire off emails, are fireworks legal in the fibre optic nevermind?—to a great film reviewer in the sky: but haven’t they seen antoine doinel and balzac’s account of his (antoine’s) grandmother in 400 Blows?

and the great reviewer in the sky said <span style="font-style: italic;
“>I haven’t seen 400 Blows.

that’s when<span style="font-style: italic;
“> i decided i didn’t want to be a great reviewer in the sky.

i just want to watch the butterfly over and over with the sound turned off and have disgusting most probably illegal dreams of poppy sovia. i will read balzac on her ass and she can read me lorine niedecker anyway she wants. give me o goddess of the teeth brace!

400 thousand blows

of the mind!

boxing against shadows

what do you do when you can’t think outside the box?

do you set up a b&b inside and serve yrself breakfasts

of cold bacon strips and crumbly hash browns

all day?

do you dig invisible tunnels

into the center of the earth

where box or no box

people melt

like arby’s cheese

into something nondescript

something neither cheese nor not-cheese?

put up a periscope

into the nether world

where tristan fucks isolde off

gorges himself on pastry and chicks in a great banquet

at bayreuth

wagner M.I.A.

everything’s M.I.A. these days

the possibility of you and me

growing a vegetable garden

in a nuclear universe

i want to grow carrot cakes!

i will eat them with you all day!

and throw them on yr face

and you mash them on mine

when we’re bored

with the green

apocalyptic sun

i will read blake to you

and you will read him back to me

and by the end of the day

we will speak exclusively

in visionary tyger-ish verse

of life in the slow lane

the cars on our right

mere shadows

speeding by.