Fictions of the Interlude (phase 5)

Quartet

Virago/soft coal/pyrite/no caste/no castle/dig that/some goats/trade songs like I'll trade you some soft coal for a noble, everyday/verifies/my hope/a bright circular spot on a solar halo/is brutal

The earth is the enemy of the classic army; it is too vast for them, they get lost, in the fields these princes are distressed, surrounded by solitude. The wilderness that the mercenary crosses without meeting a living soul must be transformed for the rebel into a swarm of allies.

And then, an ability to see each peach-toned company twice at once, is efficient, government, or, leaving the movies, as if the void between terror and the people is what is blurry about release. We get in there and keep sounding-- like loosening the bricks in the word affiliates and replacing them with benevolent cliff/sides

I start a Cuban dream, my sweet cylinder plows the earth looking for looking...

At least a button-up (shirts and skins)

The earth throws against the sky these solitary sovereigns, royal palms, huts, tom-tom tom-toms, my what-kind uncle-who-are-you-calling-a- In a regime/ everything is missing but

The calm of common language you gimme, at least there's this/ scarecrow destiny on the outskirts of what we do--What we imagine ourselves saying we would do if Stokely Carmichael

was listening. Groove merchant. The density of how close we come to dancing, thinking, before abandoning the idea 'cause we trust it so far. Like a boss keen on sobbing to himself in the dark, which is the fountain of youth until the brand catches, trademarks like loose fists. I'm sure of the word hunt, fountain, youth is the button they confuse amounts of in between land and wand and epistrophy. They offer buttons for/ I keep peering into the darting echo of your hope for the conversation on earth, and a backwards narrowing occurs like lanes and lanes of muffled pop songs go up in fortress, and the ashes and shuttles land in our cars on the way to work. Where should we go instead?


The earth throws against the sky her solitary sovereigns...


listen. It's a commercial for the pharmacy again. Sermon. Carnal sermon. Repair tastes like failure. How come. Balloons and candles, unless there are cellos going into the iconscope and what we did in there was confidential, and confidence is emptiness, then empire, they warned, gulp by gripping gulp

The sky fidgeting with its swords is you is the rain, I think, you're drinking again, my love and propaganda, I hear a bell, I feel a bell thinking in me

And then we arrived at the territory belonging to our eternal fiction

Out-Loud Silent

On the two types of premises

In an excerpt from silence or fear of becoming a professional negro or this is a sportscar, this is a such starlight, this is a prostitute, not you, the beckoner, or, I was on one, or, one of them was in the beginning let-there-be-light-like, as that is a way of being, hollow voice, wristwatch wearing, not you, the bleak one, Come Sunday stumbling upright on the cracking jade of mercy.

Easily, the pollen is limber, the limb is heartward, the hand from, shatters to play the good sport, score kind and plot kind, you shine kind and you shine shine, what a pier sounds like:: funnel, caramel, whole mouth, plus about it like a cross spinning the day Hess left his pipe and his maiden, history, to get to the retuning. As you say impressive things, as you settle into doing them like everyday with a mute on the.. out-loud silence, time ends like everyday/ the pollen/ shatters/ getting better at itself