Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Slow like that

What causes purple?
/It approaches
What is the cure?
Who said I wanted to cure it.
It's on purpose.
It's psychosomatic--
Like that heat is--trapped in the teetering baptism passing its rift moist as baskets and
even the habit of thinking it is soaks us in closeups and faith is so stuffy it yields a supper club, heedless, seven seeds in a disc of me growing so many peaches in a row of slingshots/ I'd shop and get disappointed when I couldn't buy my own fruit from a stranger-- so capitalism is working its emptiness into the searchlight hues, its crippled nuclear brightness made it here from Japan and is on its way back with urgent messages and slow food/ is all anything is/the tender/tortured illusion of urgency that whisks all hunger to the color of weeping when you reach the peaks--

Why drink for a whole summer to find that yellow
Let's just be so; just get me into that beautiful darkness with the soft wind