31 january

Jangling toward where the angles try to meet, there’s a slippery street where the supper clubs shrug their shoulders and turn away from sense—unmentionable menus and nothing left to eat—the eat’s gone off and the dessert’s too much to speak of… it’s love in alligator style, crocodile tiles and an elephant alarm clock, going off with certain abandon, random in its certain sense—ever tense enough to note remote melodies we cannot freeze for selling later at bargain prices in the basement (debasement and much lower feelings reeling in our back pockets, locked away from closer examining). Let us not overanalyze, let us not go roughly into psychosis. Let us hold our hocus pocus and focus on applause—these are the clauses we can do without, these are the phrases we shall raise up high and swim to meet. Let us greet our securities and exchange our commissions. I will king you and there will be no checkers. Onward with the salads and elsewhere with the ballads as the songs go streaming into the floods. The couches will forgive and all the figures will mount to action. Seeking attraction and finding is a magnetic sort of thing, you know. Ice for snow and heat for hot, the space for ship and cat for nip, the name for no and sky for fall—let me tell you and let me listen.