Fictionaut

Time 2020-10-31 17:03:48

Web Name: Fictionaut

WebSite: http://fictionaut.com

ID:100562

Keywords:

Fictionaut,

Description:

I first laid eyes on him at the funeral parlor. The man Homer Price told me was called Monkey Dick.My poetry is bare, showing its pink and purplish imperfections and its injuries. I buy it a dress to hide its bruises, to ornate it a little, to make it smile. On its rather ugly and mishaped body, the dress looks comical, ridiculous, clumsy, like a bird with a broken wing. The Divine and merciful Understanding Calls out to me But let me not speak its name. You are an unworthy hearer And I am a secret-keeper, cunning With keen thoughts and prayers of swift Justice Single is our thought and act And when we pray we know not what it The sentences didn’t tell accessible yarns, they imparted secret knowledge. They were restless on the surface of things, drawn to inner workings and systems and the inner workings of systems..You tell its approach soon as veal resists both knife and fork, quick neutrinos land in internet ruby climes.The kind of poem poets write and read. I mean, hey I was feelin’ it HARD at 3:24 am, and this is what spilled out.When someone asks me what I do, I tell them that I am a fixer. I fix things. There is nothing that cannot be fixed. Will it ever be as good as new? That is subjective, but I will fix it for you.Turningturning the pale grey spotShe sits in her carin the parking lotwith the radio onleaning back picking a thin piece of skin from her fingerTurningturningthe seagulls move aroundand aroundabove the asphaltas though it was the wavewith its commented onThe Petrified Banana SplitI'm beginning to think that Chris is the essential poet of the dystopic moment. Herein find the apotheosis of commodity fetishism our present dominant metaphysic.commented onInternet RevolutionaryThanks much for having a look. When they work, they feel like I've been surfing the zeitgeist.

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