Sans
Head, sans
Hands, sans feet:
The
Only complete
Man in the
Industry.
Every molecule
Of his meat’s
In
Love with
The shadow of
That
Thing on
The pedestal. He
Wants
To be
It. It’s a
Mad
Love. Sans
Head, sans hands,
Sans
Feet, it’s
Like fighting ghosts
Of
The siesta
The colour of
Cars
Back in
The city. Every
Molecule
Of his
Meat sings: “I
Go
Home and
You’re not there.”
In
Physical terms,
They’re separated by
A
Blue iron
Railing. In physical
Terms,
Having intervals
Between is all
That
There is.
Every bloody whimpering
Molecule
Of his
Meat does everything
It
Can to
To avoid weeping.
Now
It’s time
To work with
Stock
Phrases and
Risk taking the
Obvious
Route: wideangle,
Background, social message.
Sky
That’s still
A little blue,
Sky
That’s still
A little blind,
Sky
That’s still
A little lacking
In
Intellectual, moral
Or spiritual perception
Becomes
Night falling.
It’s the only
Complete
Sky in
The industry. At
Least
That’s what
The tree that’s
Snuck
Into the
Corner of the
Frame
Is saying.
This is not
The
Season for
Bright-coloured fruit.
Sans
Head, sans
Hands, sans feet,
But
With a
Mighty amulet in
The
Shape of
A phallus … Though
He
Looks hot
The stuff he
Takes
Wreaks havoc
With his erections.
[Note: Sources: William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch; Barry Schwabsky, “Poettarrarorincouroac”, in Opera: Poems 1981-2002; Oxford Universal Dictionary; Marcos López, “The Caracas manifesto”, in Marcos López: Sub-realismo criollo. Photo: “Boca Juniors”]
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