Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Cream Of Mushroom

Diamond life, unfinished lunch business,
mortified and
beyond the table's boundary
there is a diamond life with an X-rejection,
an absurdity of an absurdity,
seems cool, seems scary,
seemed cool, seemed scary
seemed in, seemed up.

Seems like I'm nowhere near that,
bounded by chair and table
it's so personal for me,
with food, its provenance,
and the provider,
less hungry as I fill with what I have done
what will I not.

Diamond life,
time reveals it at as a lesser crime.
where's it now, why?
None of it,
none of it seemed dumb,
there was so much fun,
so much to be done.

Cold war contracts,
pulls back turf of the tundra,
the curling lips over dog teeth
"…for I've been on my knees my whole…"
from the bahnhof
to the banlieues
from one cold muck to another,
"…my whole life…"
notes scrawled,
but let's negate,
read the nail dirt instead.

Let's migrate.
Papers please.

Whilst the fax clickers into action,
the dot matrix taps out its pattern,
this cold soup,
the clotted cloud,
the emptying dining room,
and thinking about what I have done,
or what I will not.

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