Thursday, December 6, 2007

"fleurs" X 9/11 to the first power

Soliloquy’s broken out of
Subway runs magnetic comforts up
Stationed there demanding ornamentals
Armatures border irony its vicious parentheticals
Obsessed with March’s unlikely spools
Warped stalks burnish dot coms
Their kingdom flown against earth its offering of outrage
A ranting too calculated too homey for spice traders
And yet it’s “fleurs” they optimize at forces
Pseudo-ministers snake-hung on fences
Tens of thousands of bodies
Lit in normal Dutch-zero-machined-largesse
Intimating x-rays opined by harbors’ sundry cods
It’s as fantastic-science-waiting-on-tables that they wait
Seven wonders of bras traced in reversals
Elements’ as yet unspecified whirlpools of dictates
Still silent in notational cul de sacs
It was not a good day the eleventh
But roomed beneath the correct lives were new spaces
The right knives with the same fork and spoon