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A praised painting or such is revealed to be the work
of a lion or a corpse
with a brush. The critics will defend it still becuz? They’re
so rich. God
bless them anyway, their hands in the hoax horse. To flourish is simple.
A
reality producer don't care if it's fudged : the critics laugh because
we need
content, this stuff on tape. A woman w/ explosives around her neck,
wearing dark glasses & an earpiece : she is telling us that if
a dog or a
woman can “give art” in raw footage then anyone can lead
a flock of spirits
back home for their portraits. Do you note the return of the black
swan?
A vortex woven of light? Well, no : it’s the flash
reflected off the camera’s
strap. Then this is the face of the man who hoodwinked the world?
Dressed up as the Queen, asking yr advice about “the necklace”?
I lost my
head though it later reappeared in spiritual form above my real one;
in the
photograph of me in my gorilla suit posing with the senator’s
dead wife.
She who had originally worked in film. Where was I? In the Dairy Queen
drive-thru going in reverse? Ordering sandwiches & drinks I should
never
consume? I am pouring my Dr. Pepper on the asphalt for my dead queen.
Then here’s Dave Smith, author of The Fisherman’s
Whore, w/ both his
hands on the dashboard telling me Ashbery is a hoax & I closing
my eyes &
nodding because when has Ashbery ever held the best objects
of our time in
his large hands? What is his story? A tape recorder placed
in the back of a
dead man’s throat? I am so blue. I am so blue, Dave, inside
this gorilla
suit, w/ my forty, fifty stories, unsure to be a slut to the page
or stage. The
closer you look at a sword (snake + word) the greater the distance
from
which it stares. Dave, when you cut a man open, what do you
find? A
praised painting? A child trying to read the writing up there? |
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