Claudio, Dutch on the Platz

There's an empty bowl beside Claudio on the bench. He's been here all morning waiting, waiting, waiting. His trouser cuffs are rolled up tight to his calves. His socks are hanging from his side pocket. Behind him is Bruegel’s Hunters in the Snow in a scrolling frame the color of warm morning piss. While the Kentuckians peer over his left shoulder, dog and squirrel at hand. His short cap is muskrat (mostly vole but some lemming too). Dyed royal red at the Herfort near Lac du Platz it smells like damp madder and rancid fat but likely it’s just vinegar rubbed in with some coarse salt and ash. Claudio passes the time humming idly,

The candles are burnt and so are the schools the broom in the muffin the broken Spanish furnace missing the shack get spare the horse is gone but the cow is here the weather is coming to follow the saw my mother son mother son down to the river and under the bridge the windows are far away
Kitty & Patty (from the english to english translation)

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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