Add 4” to your penis. Hit peo-
ple with it. Only fools fall in lava.
I said I wouldn’t steal that. Worry a-
bout you. The baboons have all been dead for
ages. The ophthalmologist reads my
eye. I do what I need to do. Listen
to the great Teddy Limit. You’re lying
to me about the turmeric, no? From
fissures psychic gouts, screech of gauze, reeking
ass hole of the onion. No hay cami-
nos, hay que caminar. Kids probably
don’t know what they’re saying. I’m fat and pur-
ple, full of sweet delight, hidden among
bright gold leaves. Squall of feathers of the loud.
[Note: sources: JV cento 12; Coolidge/Henning 4. A painting at ART LA; I wish to hell I could remember who painted it. Horace, Odes I/23, I/14 (tr. Tim Atkins); Barbara Henning, “4”, in My Autobiography; Jean Vengua, “Drought”, “Two”, “Frequenting”, in Prau; Clark Coolidge, “Any Limit?”, in On the Nameways and “Hey I’m Fragmentary”, in On the Nameways Volume Two; Pablo Picasso, “The Parchment Notebook”, The Corrida” (tr. Jerome Rothenberg), in The Burial of the Count of Orgaz & Other Poems (eds. Jerome Rothenberg and Pierre Joris); something attributed to St John of the Cross by Anselm Hollo, “49”, in rue Wilson Monday, as collected in Braided River: New and Selected Poems 1965-2005; John Ashbery, “So, Yes”, in A Worldly Country; Philip Whalen, “Plums, Metaphysics, an Investigation, a Visit, and a Short Funeral Ode (In Memory Of William Carlos Williams)”, in On Bear’s Head. For Horacio and Ernesto]