Pirates

Notice

The sound is fading out
It's more like five sounds
FREEDOM
The sound is really fading out
It's more like five sounds

Glauber Rocha; The Material Incorporeal

Stairway to the Stairs

He fixes his eyes on
the stuntmen and acrobats

C'mon Hollywood,
buzzing lease, c'mon
It's rude to be that easy

"In this society, isn't it a crime not to be a criminal?"

Syllogism

Remain to narrate and to prepare the saints for saints

Remain to narrate and to prepare the sins for since

he didn't, pre-pair, he goofed, there's one too many letter nudging I behind the inn

RIP Yabby You, Blood & Fire

Sugar Fast

How many Easters in the cathedral with these old friends and teachers, and now I just want a picture of a lightbulb with lipstick on it


I don't want the murky glass to my lips, just the whistles, everyone in the club should have these whistles and all of them blown and until the missionaries leave we will stop showing sugar, it's the taste for cane that made the bluebird, patient to controversy, pace into the anatomy of a– lure you til the morning clapping like a born again sweet -sweet at the motor, sweet shore in his own words, hand me your arrows, and a shirt for collateral and it'd be slick. That combination of seduction and reassurance, spy movies, the 50s, the new look, the crease in your eyes in your slacks, your mouth at the reed, hurry up and be quiet about something

Haitian Fight Song

what's happening is/as the universe is expanding

Sentiment is getting in the way of form/That's a bunch of nonsense

Motown, Less City

Manumission Suite

This kind of happiness–can you think as fast, can you mix it up as good as you used to–has become exotic or a threat, therefore the thrill of danger, therefore I chase it. Through euphoria and binge, slow dancing under the doo-wop, waiting for it to pass like in Imitation of Life when everything passes, paperless, but you can too

come with me to the proof. Suitable hues, church windows and ships twirled into an etch-a-sketch and shook mute. Wobbling, not trembling or pleading the blood in/

blood out

uncoordinated angelic slang of when

(this) authenticity is a service

that blacks have learned to provide for American popular–


Fantasy swapping but confessing nothing

as if he had sprung entire from his own imagination A feigned interior you might hear in a rich merchant's voice like void light

Detroit, Chicago, Kansas City and in even lower or more sybarite locations where kings go forth in the slow memories of ex-kings and don't get weary, either, frontier attitudes or vacant titles or the sublime restraint of a boy with good timing and kind enough to keep that to himself, as in a solo, motionless expression of the universal, and his mouth hung slightly open to expel desire or to deserve impersonations, like in the comics, and to seem calm when he asks

What about the party? And you get glad and aloof and inefficient and rare onto the loops of winter sand any heat can render literacy, 'that's where we were when it started,' holding up our charts, filling up our charts

Tomorrow is the Question

I Am the Sky Computer