Saturday, February 28, 2009

Instead of, yet again, over to you now. (by JKD)

After Brown Bag Lunch by Barbara Beck

Saying “Fidget”, “Catsup”, “Brittle” helps, but only so much.
Crinkle truth with a smidgeon of faked post-apocalyptic quotation.
Pascal meets Nietzsche on the Mercator relishing a brunch with the beyond.
Call this unwrapped kinky planisphere a self-accusation.
Solitude a denizen lithe as cosmic conspiracies.
Cut yourself on the glass endtable. On purpose?
The same plane’s flap choking is under-suspicious.
Downed the Boeing regardless.
Stand-up crew mechanics control is a stretch.
Posterity? Its worthlessness is lost in the distorted smear campaign.
Sop up rectangular remainders of the self designed by allusion.
Never touch the word. Litter. Skulk. Ire.
A pool gathered to fund past futures marketing affairs gone awry.
The bond relatively closer comes calling.
It’s evidence is messier, but quieting.

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