come you starting

Paris, I don’t know you
dont know you at all
no idea I’ve awoke
adament damp in a basement
Five months wandering more, in the halflight hum
mornings’ big mantrabooks and their murmured complacent
with silhouette watches end climbing my wall.

I chased you through recital halls-
through the boneyard resoot smoking screens
past ragtag prof en train recount
lustbroken, housewived streetcat schemes, l’or
grease, fuzz italic, clicking sad the breeze …

i ran after you sans mobyette
with only my own footblood guiding me down, downtown
damn train took me three days to rise and deliver
still more to start searching and spinning, for rain
dust rings a’counting lesson, impression, time, pain…

thirty days and night merge, at the glistening dew
at the dawn in the haze and the mention of you
ghost whispering by, float blank sheets of red paper
resolve paleface eyed, prism glass paned rue de…
ark, reflect twice mailman indecision, my motive, and means, repetition, toward true…

i traced my face grey again down as you waited
this then what i know, what i do know now
ask nothing but time, and i’ll shiver a smile
teeth sharper than wit, or trust, domestic life
and my back to your lack of a question

as thirty two cobblestones down on a copper
a story condemned as she douches in warm
sterility spread to a camp and a capon
more press presentations on theory and form
vacuity theory, then theory, then form.

O france wheres a frenchfried hotspur now
your gallant prosaic towards now bathing brined
daily image, the lukewarmed gloss-covering curl
and image, my france, your morosity defined
at your theoretic, heretic philistilosophers shrine

exprime nothing and more, you dark sunglassed messiah
polarize merely but all, the foul carion call
in long fingered gyration ache photomatation
shoot! lecturing crowds skimming one quoted fall
at the tour camps quantified lime all spent, & the great big magnificent blue tv set,
feeding us leading us each to a stall.

And to each, and to all, and all.

( o sun,
come you starting the making of making of
dust from the waves on a cresting magenta of
webs from the eyes of these postulous things
in the midst of forbiding the dream from the gleam
and the meaning from seeming the dream? )

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