Disappearance: Fat- twats- woggy from bombay, & the aya Colas from whoRan –

Strange, I noticed things started to disappear more often.  urious, but I nver paid much atention to it. Things are never much as they apear, or should appear.

It started quite simple as simple and strange things are, a word kan a peer, objekts transform, the nown, be kums — ↓and then the kolectshuns of werds, !! symbols, trails, and trafik.

I followed each word, loose thought, as it kam and went.

lst, eye glasses. We all lo0z glass9s, there should be no ? az to werds – ideas r kaptured

then lost.

poems, shuld be good places 2 hold images, places of knowin’ – unknown – ﻉ@۩O#$!

A plague of dyspepsia, flatulence. BIG – GREASY FLATULENCE.

 

“No home fries, save the pig – no bacon!  Francis or otherwise!”

tiddly, tiddly, tiddly jam P _ AW – P.  kU – jA- dah

I will not be mitigated by memory.

FAKTS – Fat-twats – or amalgms of Merkury.

“Fat-twats.”

“yEs, dum fuk. like the aYacola put on the writer – Salmon Rushd – in?”

Who?

The wog from Bombay!

Salmon, was he supposed to meet us at the upstream café?

sophmoric – puns – you should be punting in Cambridge.

 

As to the matter of the crime: Appearances & Disappearance

The lOst glasses, are another matter.

Things were disap eering. Small slips – wo rds be kam colors.

MAGENTA

kurious how magenta is not a color, but it holds an ocean of memory, green

seawweed pungent green – rinsed – ariZen – wanted to become something more

k u – b a - 

“Look ma, look what I found!”

“demented child, its a plain ordinary e-minor chord lying on the rocks

sunning herself! when she gets a bit of a tan and turns her self over, gets a bit

of sun on her bum – she’ll warm up to soto voce – resondo – a bminor in a quirky

9^th.”

“But, ma, what if no one takes her home?”

“There are no what “IFS’

POETRY

This cage of words,

symbols ideograms,

of sense and nonsense,

Ashbery twiddly dee

and twiddly dum,

concrete and sense,

Miles Davis inversions

of rhythms – Gill Evans

painted in arpegios

of Seville.

poems – F U K – I n

provincial.

Everyone trying to

be smooth in

in NOVA tion,

R The

 

I loved that girl with a vibrancy

            that was greater than

love.

“Love, you know. Bloody, holy mackeral, flip floping,

            mic from Galway! Sodomites of the church,

door mites gnitting and gnackering on the jib- jag

                        faltering rhyme of obscenity.

 

SIRENS of the Quay

jibber – jaggery – woggery

loverly- a room somewhere from

the cold night air.

A kosmonaught from the planet wog

            sauntered by and and slapped a 50 carrot diamond

in her cool evanescent hand?

“There are fifty carrots, but no diamond.”

She and the rabbit Kus mon naught from the planet

            love, leaped and frolicked, made love in

the house boat on the Seine.

“Tu faire un cuillere!”

“non, ta ku.”

Fucking worthless frogs, they can’t even articulate the

            ass from the neck. Ah, belle ku.

DIS – APPEARANCE

Two homeys from 145 and Grand Course in a lowrider, made from a Yamaha motor scooter, a rice burner par excellence, whoosed by and stole the I from the IRT.

“Bastards, who wants to go to Queens – Flu Shin – the outpost of the Chinese Empire. I’m only trying to find the 6 line, fleeced from a fornikating kop, well not really, but I loved the intonations of memory and time”

We were trothed to no one, but my love and I.

Each part, a memory and a k lu – a key to these sdorw – that a P P E A R ED  – then as suddenly errased themselves.

GLASSES

“Yes dear – she said in that gnawing – knowing voice – there on the damn table! Sweetheart! A voice as soft a lion purring in a dream, as tender as innocence and assonance — an assignation for lovers. “

I stood by a mirror and watched the draindrops fall, luscious round lollipop sized kisses, one by two, soldiers on the front lines, exposing the vibratum de amour, the solstice of Venus as I devoured her…

“But if love – were redemption – what is the pool of memory that would tempt fate – and of love itself – what would we find? “

“k- Za – ku da – said the punk Kus- monaught who came with a bouquet of carrots – all 50 diamonds. b holder of the light. “

“What was light, when light dreamed of being light?  What was a photon swimming through time who imagined herself coupling with another? Or merely a fragment to a key in an instant where love required nothing more than the desire nor love.”

               ɸ͏

It is not what I meant at all. Neither Alpha or Omega

 

“Za – Ku – da.!”  spoke the Kusmonaught from Ku.

Scuttling across the ocean floor, looking for a rom for tea, or merely – looking for

my glasses.

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