Sunday, November 20, 2005

ORTHO-COLD


Colder Cold
cold
ferrule cold
colder still
still colder than
cold
I am cold
-er
than a money’s
ass cold
colder
still
feral cold
colder than
money-box
cold
there’s no explanation for this ferule coldness, colder than a trench-digger’s ass cold, colder still, yet ferule cold, money-box money’s ass cold, like a
fucking solstice cold that grabs and pranks at the tongue, the hypothalamus, the pineal gland, that fucking cold, cold, for the love of gods, heathens and knockabouts

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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