Shades of 44th Street

L’insu que sait de l’une bévue s’aile à mourre –“

From Lacan (at On Surrealism article by Josefina Ayerza. Also, to Slavoj Zizek.

V5 still soaking couple more lines need work.

Thousand folds
of napkin
tears itself apart.

Sniffles whispers
blunders! blunders?
gotta wonder —

Suddenly Parker shows up
from down the block.

Not blunders? curses?
beauty is damned
beauty is clam
beauty is relative.

Only reason
get drunk like that
is to rake a haul

and make a fall,
into nullahs
of love and death.
It’s not one dead pie 
it’s a thousand dead pie

cup runneth over
up to my neck —

Shakespeare rakes
the house music
for sarcasm

and tippy Camus la rue
attacks —

revise revise
exoticism, mystique
absurd lies —

& yet
cupid poe crow
cries: arise.

And pull that ring
from pantywaist, thing.

Three card
mounty, third eyes —
emergency supplies —
as phoenix dies —

to obtain.

Drums beat
slow slow
row row row

bang on.

Skiddish graveolent reversals
folly and tip
the heart would rip

and burn
like a prisoner of war.

Wings over
rushing gushing
absurd abyss
made pall
my floating island

Scribbles into screams
“doing better
much better now —
it seems –“


Gas lights got me
just one look
whips round neck
at every deck.

Mauls for beauty
insists it’s a duty
apophatic bets — hmm think more on

One two, three
against air in spasms
and spans

fed the drip —
got a grip.

And that all
made a difference.

Sun where dizzies
in margins

absurd is god without sin
absurd is sin without god

prod squab
swab and

fetches cruces —

a thousand cuts
by hour
by yard.
force per units

burns with radiant heat
yellow and red
and blue

makes a fire.
Makes me into
a crazy liar.

Sanctimony is hard
to trust.
Something mettled
and blew

its rise and cries
and loss and grotty oceanic doss
lit up like news
an infernal fuse

bounding rent
where lifes unpent —
brewed wayward
virulent — biblical —

signs of gnashing
comes out flashing
lions den
lions den
heads on roman fields
for wack the ball.

It was a hidden
hid in hide in hearts
had no name
only graces magnitude

magnetic heats
feels like angelolatry —

and repeaters pounce on
sweet renewals.

Absurd misses
a tension for kisses
a holy hotbed

skyway to bridge
skyway to bridge…

The End
is a sign — for cineastes.
To know
when to talk again

gather up your trash
get up,
all about, file out.

Leave behind
audiovisual share
in mortal snare

birds pile up
under chair

in colors forlorn
that mourn on porn.

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2 responses to “Shades of 44th Street”

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