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Always dawn, eve. Embanked fog,
settled in, is loathed to lift. M., I
see and raise your AKG C414,
wager singing--not singed--star
even as a faint, failing filament
lacerates Perecesque night. For whom-
ever purse the kitty mounts, offered
up to this birth control pill-
purchased spread. O Pamela, post-
Ophelia, Malachi nee Mark--
a mother is a fish. My darlings,
who is that running out of time,
barn, Ryder? Some jazz was playing--
par but for the vase of ashes,
loathed, loathing these leave-takings...
Goodnight Ladies, sweet prince, yes,
t'is the night before the Media Room
put pen to paper as background
scratchy turntablism. Tombstones radio
back the ground. Shifting sand dunes
mount Lake--not Lady--M.
Background cackle--Molly? Yes?
yesyesyesyesyesyes--out,
out of jukebox whack.
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