Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The Lonely Book Tour

I'm late, as ever, and maybe never will I see again
her lips, her flattering apocalypse of Biedermeieran
sycophants, ja?

I'm blase, as always, populous and closed as Bombay
heavily rained on, flooding my temple with Subhiksha
cellophane, hm?

I'd brave it, m'nurse, caress it within infirmaries,
laugh with you, my cant/hubris, you are unperturbed
by debris, haha.

Three hundred girls, Spartans, met me at Thessaloniki,
told me about a disco where infernos or pseudanthiums
bloom, oh yeah.

I said, bring em on, caress me to heaven and why not?
Insufferable, indomitable, am welterweight enough for
sympathy, oh no!

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