from COMMON PLACE

 

A SQUARE, A CELL, A SENTENCE

 

this blank resource whose waste excels, a darker place where bodies bend, ribs break in vaster banks, my blunting force, just say whose organ, say whose bone, drafting futures, time negated & not perceived as use, being raw, the stone, the teeth, what strange glamour, hangs like a sun, this deciduous mulch, his skin, the sky, the latch, the bone

 

in saying all this, let’s say I’ve acquired a kind of money function, or what stands in for that, I —

 

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being of sound no prophecy feels, what the mind stands in for, fallout from the coined relation, erosion of the working day as a unit of measure, a calculable truth in whose place stands my dutiful fuck, love’s dirty interior, the fur-bound corn, my sickly seed —

 

this eternity of stars repeating, whatever you make me swallow I’ll swallow, I say, hearing it again, imagining the stone, his eyes like summer signs, suns of nature mask the place of meanest meat, a blank concealed in every sentence

  

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everything takes revenge on time, like debt, this surplus of dead, my living décor, I swear on his balls, my very own sucking stones, or coins, a hardening of war and sex, the work of human food, whatever skins intelligence, rude, like fate, such rueful afterglow of what demise, mourning the passing of system-wide reference, this allegory from which no soldier’s cock can be redeemed, deluge in which we find & fade

 

— such blips, sublime oblivions lurk, my whole interior being one with their optics

 

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my money scored to other scenes, this dreamy residue, an aura of strangeness clings to his limb, a thing no longer here, a plain where sheep-walks haunt the desire for landscape, drowning dreams of nature as if the problem were one of acreage, or ground rent, not being retinal, profit turns up in my stool

 

— inside this scene, pure property of the deceased, for want of luster, harvesting vacancies in which I’d have a share, if only he would touch my mouth, plant his metal here

 

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whose meat exposed for channel jamming, whatever it takes to conduct pure signal, the body clogging up no frame at all —

 

while hot lust fans, sheer weight the earth imagines, loins patch nerves the drill, these stones exchange for skin, the bone, the seed, the teeth, some pure emotion, like kerosene, or pomegranate, fiber of the stalk, the wreck, the phantom, I mean, my heart conceals an extremist core, being murderous, this puny mushroom, nothing refers anymore, all shares illiquid, no guarantee to resell

 

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an exchange of coin, clean interior living, the fur, the wave, the wall behind which spread sublime fields, productive bodies get me hard inside the figures, yr deciduous mulch, meaning money, pure sound after periods of sonorous decay

 

all of them killed by abstractions nobody made — 

 

inhabiting his thigh, singing it even, as if the destruction were too silent to know, wedded to limb turned to stump, this common place

 

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a bone in my ass, where all future relation resides, if only I could feel the structure of marketable risk, or even its idea, the world entrenched inside his meat, worn lace, the latch

 

— to which I’ve attached my song, his fallen body, a ruse to cure the nation, an obstacle wedged deep in old utopian zinc, nothing empirical, the country wants to plug a dreamer’s lewd cognition, this feel for fucking without touching anything at all

 

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— along these interior roads, unmanned US drones, my vast imagination, having led a mini-Tet offensive in the South, whose shabby portion gleams and sewage glows, our one true possibility, being false

 

beyond fascination, so excessively lit, as if there were light in desolate cells, vision, being a security measure, like common meat still longing for transport — just say the word usufruct and levitate

 

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his body, this omen to be waiting for, source of clarity, a figure traced in stars, the bone, the lace, the tooth, the sky, in whose shadow I go on believing in myself, succumbing to old means, conditions under which I’ve prepared these communications —