the devil...saith unto him...it is written...Jesus said unto
It is written...
me fait peur, l’autre joie et liesse.
greatest pleasure was ever to be denied.
the top of the tower red eyes winked. Tibi dabo.
all your inferiorities and follies, and worthless proliferations
far Rakino to Waitakere. the parade below, surging
pursued the narrative of the winning yacht,
left in its wake a thin blue suture, in case of evacuation.
was the skite hour. Almost as if the Mother of Darkness
laughing at the Living God. the town was about to be
of its small, practical, older Japanese models.
old and the sick, parked out in rows of beds,
dripfeeds blinding in the sunshine,
be wheeled about by the unemployed, if need be.
Bridge, nineteen ten, and beyond a sign
was written simply SHARP
sign of a company whose business is signs,
said sign’s revenue pays one wage of one nurse for one year.
hour in which the cables failed, and the fabled
luffed, for fear of fire the law closed the city down.
that was need was an ambiguousness
would confound desire.
this aspect it looks as if the black glass
not last and the used needles will not be reshielded.
herald appeared to ocntradict.
Domain cattle graze on good green grief.
this aspect the seagulls are hurtled upwards towards us
targets reconstituting themselves on rewind.
is a scarcity and excess a lack
writes its clear cut texts on
eyes of the oncologists and the quality office space:
1885 my great-grandfather set out to convert the heathen.
use of carrier pigeons failed to impress the natives
the pigeons failed to deliver the messages.
were intercepted by the Mother of Darkness, much
her own amusement. The Living God was
So it was even-stevens.) NO PAST
PAST NO PAST the words which were written there.
this rain has stopped, light shines on the new mews,
inching spider winces down the tower,
the Collector of Collectables floats by on helium
a clay volcano, an old volvo, and a valve radio,
says the vandals took the handles.
old songs have a death which belongs to us all.
the organic concrete buttresses,
be seen that McCahon you threw out in the back shed -
whoa, take a bead on that:
Chomsky halfway up a clay bank
for a pigeon to be released.
just like that day the president was shot.
custom of wearing red socks on 4th July
out before the power failed.
jocus abracadabra dabo,
view is fantastic, all you’d ever want to see in one life.
plane flies north to bomb the ancient city of Baghdad.
of thei nfernal swamps, receive me.”