travels with a donkey in the cévennes

the city is silent.  the meat of the human leaks onto subway seats, trickling along the busy aisles, bulges in conference rooms, mute and difficult, unredeemable.  the city would talk but for the meat.

apparati of apparati form my wretched vision.  i escape them with my hard prick.  i use it to hack a hole in the petri cage of scientific society and fall to floating in mindless expanse.

there is no horatio like a sasquatch.  there is no ratio like an ass watch.  there is no oratio like a sassy snatch.  semantic-cultural exercises for the esl convict.

to wander in the city with the only pretense pretense is an unraveling i sense as a binding.

            but binding what to what? the unraveling asks.

                        binding pretense to pretense, the binding says.

everyone knows the city is a neighbourhood in my mind.  in it i walk without objective, seeking mind.

ennui is inescapable empty fertility – an infinite field of blooming gonads under a caged expanse.

when the world began, which it never did, i played on the pureed bones of imagined beings and laughed the laughs of beginnings, and so it was.

galpapladapal, god of false tortoises, hardly toiters on its turpitudes, but fills the hideous sponges with seminal tetrapods.

mary mary, lolled and lolling, brassiere half-done, as pantyless as clouds, took me in her mouth in a cubicle at bocca’s and we were trashed out, we were, trashed out.

at the edge of monterey, behind a shed, some rust for lunch and not without a light, i dealt names to the haphazard autos in my company and we several feigned a game of chance.

and all this, all these wonders of the hours, are but weeling skims off the surface of the hours, signs of signs of signs and some science of sensation.