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Date Posted: 04:30:03 06/09/06 Fri
Author: peteer
Author Host/IP: NoHost /
Subject: Re: Hand Movements
In reply to: 88 's message, "Hand Movements" on 13:47:07 05/25/00 Thu

>On one hand, when I come to th gristle
>I put everything I do through th long slow stroke
>Pushed back to th wall, I hit th fast choke
>chop to yr throat, don’t even lean to poke a hole in
>my float
>There’s only one boat and we’re on it so go tie th
>bonnet down
>On th other hand, stratacombed habituence
>congregates non-constituency into culturally specific
>A virtual slam-dance of redundant hypocrisies
>and over abundant oxymorons such as, ‘War is good for
>th economy’
>are dichotomously doled out in seal of approval
>spin doctor recommended daily allowances
>In my minds eye, my romance perforce
>may not yet be easily ascribed
>A prerequisite dialectic must first rust into
>Th moon transbender tumescence would not be far from
>th pint
>Weather reports indicate Coltrane on sax, Joyce on th
>In any dark, smoky room looms th key, th loosely freed
>The scheme seems to be tied to th flick of a wrist
>th most timely twist; catchin’ th rhythm as schism
>on hand again as th chasm is spanned
>My epistle is, I must admit, fraught with pitfalls
>and not fit food for th feeble-minded
>Within every nook and cranny lurks
>a canny ancestor’s manuscript or
>one of nature’s anomalies, i.e.
>th platypus, surfacing thru recombinant stew
>Askew views th kaleidoscope as angle accrue
>At th turn of a phrase; th wonder is new
>A covenant is inscribed into th hearts of sheim
>not graven into stone or inked onto papyrus
>I stand on th skull beam eye socket
>housed in mirrors enuf to catch a whiff
>of th pied hyper spy societal pornopolies
>I size up run o’th mill, toe-th-line avatars
>as they messiah-nize dirt simple principles
>into phantasmal, orgiastic bombastions that no homine
>towards harmonious balance inclined could possibly
>My snake baits my mongoose
>but any hunter would prey on my rabbit
>As snail darter flicks minisculated semaphore
>to last stand sequoia sentinels; eurythmia is my life
>my two edg’d tongue sword that
>cuts to th quick anything it encounters
>I have to put it away, keep it sheathed
>cough discreetly into my napkin
>I only pull it out once in awhile
>and only in front of a captive audience
>which in due course is dust clouded
>mysteriously corralled thru th clearly marked exits
>I have been high on th slack tide, waitin’ for th big
>I’ve been dry until midnight just to see what it’s like
>When I first heard as baby; space sliced by th
>intricacies of word
>I knew in th abstract perfect tense that
>I had something relevant and aching with clarity
>strapped down to a rapidly diminishing scapegoat of
>I heard th swing sung, slung low against
>th elliptical arc of th universe’s quivering lip
>pursed in epiphanies of vaguely remembered aromas
>I am sub-light momentum; barely able to comprehend
>th ponderous cop-out, th rigid fluency of deception
>that is somehow spontaneously kept aloft
>on a delicately unbalanced bassackwards industrial
>served up with a zestily sauced innuendo ala carte
>I fire off salvos in th opposite direction
>just to feel th ensuing percussion
>Discussion crops rot amongst babbling books
>all stacked unto self; th shelf drops off
>and if you aren’t aware of th deep water
>you’re gonna be crab bait as sure as
>th Sun barely shines on Neptune

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