what gumption is left in the machine counts
we are soul tired and enlivened by great gobbing storms
rolling in northwest along the river
the watchman and the fishermen have ordained
there are clouds thick as shag carpets
carrying floods and fuckery
and the new age of soul-machines
42.
rock, paper, scissors: the way of the world
43.
fuel up, dissident machines
44.
let’s swap universes with sex store mannequins
45.
a goldfish dreams the day of his public flushing
46.
rain is an iceberg’s dementia memory
Lent is a good season to crucify the soul:
best served fileted and fried in corn batter
a couple hush hush puppies and some slaw
don’t underestimate the cake wheel’s hypnotic charms
be sure to genuflect properly during the calisthenics and callbacks
when the blood calls you, sing, you crispy bastard, sing
