Besides the blurry fire, no pressure.
Speaking of impaired, Paulina moved:
this time snarky smears clean the sun
a inhuman image in old Nevada
just laughing order. Dagoenean
had disgust. The little one
will be happier, entering this liberty.
The skies are torn. The Geldi come
gods of corrosive kitsch now playing down
Always amazement out of Trumfleet:
our tokens flourish, the game go on
oh this is old talk! – callow kitsch ’n’
new pleasure. Rats reads poems;
gods bear the fight. To Liberty!
My & your – scratch scabs modulate the head.
Trust excess. Rearrange all areas
gently with my fingernails. Divine counsel too:
in the south western sky ancient nameless art displayed.
1 Note that the following text was composed in the language of the other world about this world, the only one we know, then “translated” necessarily into the language of this world, the only language we know. This is normal for poetry.
Trumfleet: gas field near Doncaster, identified on the cover of Kitchen Poems