coughing getting off on A & B tape sides late
to mid evening some back of the mix applause
plays it coy even komninos zervos’ mild alliterative
tipple sticks up a finger, labelling itself ‘brash’.
i’m not the stick-thin archivist, wasting away
evenings in the files evenings that could have been
spent at home or getting fucked up or in casual &
‘warm’ conversation, you are.
call me stupid but the ‘new hybrid car’ has about
as much hope as ken bolton has convincing your
mum that wordsworth wrote particularly bad poems. it’s a
given that your mum is literary & given the fact (oh…
i wanted to use ‘chute’ in this piece) we could well discuss
why a certain premier’s prize winning novelist would
mention this: the writer & his sister dorothy, walking
so as to avoid the thought of what they might do together,
alone & at home. petra mentioned this pair when we drove
past the rock (i know, this is getting to be one of those
way-too-specific things) but it was only about her
cooking for him.
when things get real it pays to follow that whirlpool
into the heightened reality: & then intelligent people
observe your artifice in a knowing way (my readers wear
odd-socks, purposefully aping adrian mole in an attempt
at non-avant-guard unusualness). it has been done before though.
like, when komninos coughs wayne swan coughs
& when jas h duke coughs tony jones coughs. even keri
coughs before reading poems clocking in at just
three minutes thrity. keri just sent me a message on
facebook. i thought the word ‘facebook’ looked
obstinately stupid when i used it, in one of the earlier
splatter poems, & i thought i wouldn’t use it again.
my thought often proves informative to others. i guess
they wear socks. i have some other things to do.
a scrabble move: someone i don’t know but called ‘melissa’

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