Candles and sommeliers and pasta for my kindling pantlegs-pusher whispering the hype in someone’s frantic ear and you appreciate the cards the first time the whale takes the road and not the sea. The turnout was pretty intense and the last fight between the two parents and everyone up in their seats waiting to see the ending and the battle was sooo tragic and yet victorious and we have to be something more than what we expect of ourselves and so many damned mistakes winning ourselves back. Something like that, you know? Yeah. Something like that. You have to do different things, when you have all the beef you’ve been having. Like you have to be prepared not to come down all the way, you have to stay up, you don’t know what might happen mentally, you have to keep the engine running. You have to mimic someone who’s not tired or dejected at all.
I’m: Breaking into jail Breaking out of jail Breaking my bones Owning non sense Putting up the sepulcher Pasting old cuspids With curious muck Murking in the dark Lovely Pouncing in a noose museum Able to sleep a rain Cranking the top off bottom Exhaling old frames Nuancing charm-chatter Reducing noise/ calamity boys Diatribe/ omnibus No mess/ no fuss Fusion in elision Harps in rhyme Elastic decisions Marked in plastic A tease of sculpture Ardent repose of conscious self Tea-drink waterfall Et al.
An Italian-American Spaceman Foresees His Death:
Smashing against ashen walls, alone in space,/
Weirdly wired, mind warping/
Through the void, veering over/
The vapid edge of madness, mumbling aloud,/
"Per aspera ad astra, you young asshole./
It’s a rough road to the stars, Rotando."