Now it's time to charge, and forget about the quagmire.
For several years, we've been practicing this disposition:
using cell phones on rollerblades, for example,
or offering antique maps to visiting, obscene peasants
-- unlucky bastards, to have come across you!
which is all absorbed in discussion, late nights around
the Godard DVDs, the box set of a late Seventies No Wave band
recorded on a shoe-string, or the elastic of someone's neck.
It's positively electric: the spurious evolved into Classics
which means: there's no test on Monday, only this
revolving around political enigmas, letting them float on by:
"The Leaves Of The Tree Are Falling
Underneath The Sky." I'd, stupidly, want a little more definition,
something to hope, nightly, by. But that all changes with age.
You'll have an age where the clothes simply fall
off, revealing a late Bronzino, or some able fake. Or them, simply.