It's the dreaded ghetto of strangers again
I get the vision of two peacocks spreading their tails
A shock that capsizes my own language... if given permission to be itself...
Jazz could rebuild the hybrid/
city before improvisation
like noise, like slaves... can simply run buckwild and get out of hand... I heard the mayor thinking.. so it was with the levees and the techniques of falling (a freely chosen conceptual silence) amidst the acoustics of negotiation/initiation/proportions recur and the union determines them, two heads, state, and what you don't say... sound under slavery was called noise in hopes that it would vanish against the law, is not safe for water or to have been waiting in... Walk on
Fear of a Black Planet.. I heard the mayor plan.. dancehalls, famine, entertainment
The silence of his huge hotel is echoing, indifferent, idiotic
It's the dreaded ghetto of strangers again.
I get the vision of two peacocks spreading their tails.
If given permission to be themselves, they break apart, sport dark glasses, not to be cool but grieving is a soft enchantment, a slice of mandarin on the tongue felt before it is desired and longed for once consumed.. a celebration left midway
and when we just stood there tasting of balloons, their urbaness, their business, their attempted disappearances
and when we ran after them singing, practicing their names
The fetish does not reply but is talked into your thinking and acts that strange if given permission to be itself, would run out of people to dread to fear to talk about to feather to tar to bait to wait for. To hear the color first I thought of my father's voice lurking in his eyes and thick with form is emptiness form is emptiness, evacuations are blue, returns too, form is emptiness, form is emptiness
