Soft, soft, the lan­guish sho­cked ter­rible pit­ted think & lost city     swti­ched semio­tic drink rigid through pale tube,     pal­lor of the jaun­di­ced eye, soft swum cin­na­mon, soft, the lan­gui­shed suck,  a wind bob­bing in beau­ty drizz­led by ter­rible pat­ter­ning ins­ti­tute Taste, rowed behind clo­sed streets, dark camou­flage on the flanks of the swam, retrea­ted, untoi sip, hea­ding on the camps glo­wing, ener­ge­tic mag­pies perch bet­ween para­ding for food beneath the arching cave-lamps soft, soft, the lan­guish sho­cked by an emp­ty series of neu­tral door­ways once again there, obli­vious, regu­la­tion par­lour, contai­nable situa­tions, flicks through manual, pin­cer on num­ber appro­priate, approxi­mate, checks time.…

It isn’t just that it wasn’t, going unchal­len­ged or on the level of a line : it was that each one was from the soul, which was not quite wren­ched which is why dis­course is so impor­tant & why I had trouble on my hands. So which which why why may be unplea­sant much less com­for­ting than bomb bomb thrust thrust after bet­ween & before lesiure which moved me not that my voice nei­ther my touch nei­ther that nor my ear led me to your rea­dy per­se­cu­tors but that you ham­me­red, and increa­sin­gly so, gathe­ring detrac­tors & detes­ters to spit & threa­ten that you could not…