Sincerity
It’s a perfect world in that it can never be caught. A runaway train of graces, one among trillions, stumping toward rebirth as gods or cockroaches – who the hell knows? Spit from that mall in Michigan, confetti and humans. I saw the Middle East explode in Agog. I saw Form melt. I saw fireworks explode on the fourth of July. I saw plenty before my eyes rolled back into my head ( ~ ! ~ ) . It doesn’t matter how you dress your dolls, only the care given. Perhaps that doesn’t matter as well. Mattering clicks on down the tracks with departure schedules and times of arrival; and carnivals; plans for survival; reasons to put wagons in a circle; ants. It’s got sugar cane and terrain; ridges and intelligences.
Sincerity tends to rely on itself to a sudden realization of the all-I-knew-was-shit explosion.
In The Water
None of the previous matters to Grundy Von Foolenhaven et al in that short summer when skindipping lasses fare well on the dock. The moon gives itself up to be sunk in the lake. For love any tragedy. That thing which never happened has been popping up again. The tear shed in which we found refuge. The clubs sewn to our lapels make us look good. Our nonbound contract leaves us all on top. Where can we all go right? Panties fall between knees and ankles. Salvation is the breath of pine needles while sleeping. What happened between hiccups and death? Another story told, I’m sure. Sincerity knows itself well, as well as something can be known up to that big bang of matter.
Islands
Far from this summer of hope, dare it be said taut promise, things aren’t so aspiring. On an island in the East River little islands sink. The guards’ Uniforms are all neatly stiff and wobbly, pressed at the altar of probity, promotion. The new prison psychiatrist’s first professional duty was to see to an Officer Beltrane who was determined to be a >>>>>>preinstitutionally obsessive personality disorder type<<<<<< A rookie >>>>poorlostsoul<<<< Corrections Officer, the Overseer of Chauncy Onetoomany – cracked relentlessly from angles unrepresentable – in the prison laundry, who ripped at the seam the uniform the state was deducting from the good Officer’s paycheck.
Facts in dispute ensued. Stipulated to is a sponge wrung of blood matching the DNA of Chauncy Onetoomany.
Justice (… a filament whipped accidentally on which a few organisms cling); a sponge wrung of its blood to honor the legions of warefucked niggers stacked pensively on pallets, haphazardly purposeless alive cargo destined downriver…
Some facts surface as we pretend to know them; driftwood art, meaning stripped of its emotion and reenergized somehow poignantly once again, to some unknown end, (all the dreams you shared with him you might as well forget) if the pre-emption or the reactualization can finally begin (one woman’s love tragically unrecorded by its hope’s stenographer whimpered and heard like a tree).
When he (always) looking over his shoulder, one eye on the hallway’s each way; One Day’s strange brilliance soaks up enough to wring a few of officer Beltrane’s favorite things out of his collar. To testify the officer “flipped out in tentacles” as if squid is the sort of speculation that only fills avoidance with its sequential time-is suction, but the record isn’t so clear on how a victim of didso justice and its proof (so as they say) Chauncy Onetoomany sunk unceremoniously into the East River, his real crime one of caring, to impress himself upon his masters, sacrificed nothing he couldn’t offer up regardlessly. Them should be so guilty as this absolves always the less violent. Officer Beltrane stood before the bar of Justice and was not found so much as wanting, the New York Times reported.
Docked
Back on That Dock on That Lake awake with sex and goose poop, Grundy Von Foolenhaven et al young yet foolish shriek how perfectly cold the water seems. The world is round and magnificent and holds this togetherness to the sphere with gravity. The sun shines on the globe as hands cupping the face of the gazing Marilyn Monroe. A perfect world.
