Pax Tropicana for Kenny Goldsmith One could simply "break it down" she said. The       thumb-print on my nose is not a product of my work in newspapers.       Therapy — groin of the misaligned — they've summered in the Hamptons,       slept on the sides of mountains, chained by their own attentions                                                          to the necks of the crags — thespians!                                               Narrow-       minded?                                  (That's when your Argentinean cohort implied I was       merely pretending.)                                                       — the level dropped down a bit, ice... cone.                Freakishness of the proms. Blankets of       warm air over the                                                  barbecue area   — the organi [...a "z"...] ers chirped,       It's a satisfying venue.       Imagination pulses in the avenues. — Redux. Stormin' Norman on       a Christmas card. — General Perot is an ex-lax.                                            — They've cannibali [...a "z"...] ed somewhat since       then. Or orientalist paradigms are worth their       weight in sulk.    As in, brrrrrrrrrrrrr. * And oh! your clues. Your sexy nexus.   Clause claws,       street-sweepers sing one-by-one and                                         together on the avenue. It's plainly       autumn and Shelley. Whirl!                   A mind set within a cranium deposits its dirty bank notes — solipsistic script — anthologi [...a "z"...] able                                            denouements — they grow exhausted maintaining the catalogue of                                         several devolved pantomimes. (Of several devolved pennants.)   The       dancing of children                               — blue building faces ricocheting the light from twilit              sky — first marketed electric cars [...a "z"...] oom past lichened feet       of God [...a "z"...] illa,                                      and speech — disembodied lips flapping in the gasses       and fog of our destroyed modern city                                — trans- national communication                                                             suppurates. * * Lush perjury       barks its sole salad commission. End dry. Parallax.                                  Pulse rocks.       Rigid defamation's honor ragout limp                                            edifice.       Impediments. Lathered runts. Recon shaved       pates. Mexico oh license starves regular guys —stirruped hones! Rip out of throat chrysalis canary.                                                           And country       peat beats ovular rookery.                                        Ipanema. Aberration.       Amps chatter it up "strongly," deciding chores. * Smoke's a line       of a rendering aphrodisiac.   Small streets shimmer, they say       providentially as myths whiff                                     again, out.       Ordinary dancing, plain hand holding,                      spat on the pavement and wished it dry.       Arms making arches that circumbscribe tribally                   topics of repression,       the galled gawk wavers between sleep and engagement,       nonplussed // drained.       Grainy image leaves no target on the macula       but peripherally determines                             (parenthetically) the league of       ills that take precedence over activity in the pencilled                                      quadrants, logos-meaning being loop drills in endless redundance.       Boy, utters the green wind: take, again, this       hand and stop ricochetting stupidly.       Remain intact like the little fax slipped in the pillowslip       born in or by stentorian fissioning,                                                     that that mark on the skyline is       foreign, diacritic //       othering.   A manufactured ball bounces blandly       counter-gravitational with few needs. * * In contractual sentences,                          splatter       gas and centuries, "got my       Kiss records out,"       banjo plastique, and diamond                         proses leveling the RAM past, gum-                                        gutted       and dove- breathed, prancing through parks, meadows of       ecriture,                             lust lost last in hillibilly       mugs and comforts,                            Fugs' tomes radially dimming       harlequins that only greet. * Unless the nut?       Your clannish, collective demonstrations of       skyways, directives (opium tethered drama)       — the storks, the geese                                                                derive Q patterns. Archly,       Archie, Veronica,       — flabbergasted maypole — (Japanese men and women in business outfits performing calisthenics)       ants with violins (O'Hara), and       Tom Cruise                                   aching after Raymond       ("Rain Man"),                                           — unless they consider the Leisure Times plasticine,       Gormenghastic com- plexities                      diverting, shunning, inviting, out of the screened front       porch.                         Brooklyn Bridge.                         The stride of pink Stradivarius,       punky hairdos making fans of us              — developers (passive), consumers (active), thinking (thrumming) this thought:       ably is no       one,                   nobody (Nobodaddy). Parkinson's by the BQE, White       Castles ("murder burgers") demisentientally waxing prolific, in utopian       solutions of the radical "volume" question, — quest, solution, quest, solution       — standard dyslexic Western paradigm, bothers me. Ably       amorphous.