[THE STRATEGY OF PARADISE IN PURSUIT:]
February 14, 2004, 23:59

{dawn}
Washington crossing the Delaware, clothed in the coy snakeskin I’ve invented.
[TECHNIQUE:]
With this coffee stained husk he can dig through the ice like an invertebrate; also, contract the execution of Lincoln’s fading cactuses.
But Betsy Ross was wailing:
“Abrade the lying lights of bare back bark, 
Call the Cast and cut off decorticate, 
excoriate, exuviate making noise rinsing the chandelier
flay, my known nine; gall at the dinnerparties thrown in graze, 
hull, husk, pare, peel, 
pull off a scheme within plastic bag bonnets, 
rind the ocean tides, scale the walls and scalp the days,
scraping shaving, sheding, shucking
slough was a strip, but a trim made him thin.”

{midday}
recent photographs have decreed: 
gelatin in prime time; pheramone arrives at The Guiltmore.
I am summoned for a hairless rendezvous at the supernova lounge. 
(But first, a few details are necessary):
Mousier Urchin and myself hit the campaign trail again; after last seasons upset, it was time for a real curtain call. 
The Hi-Fi (conniving) Internationale Rides Again! 
To obtain the voters attention and to coax the public within our favor, we decided we’d better pick up some shiny diamonds and red meat at the tapeworm farm.
Once at the farm we were allowed entrance; 
dressing as Jesuit priests on stilts has it’s ups and downs. 
The tape worm factory sass-mouth was off the Richter; but if she was nurse then where was doctor? busy spending his saliva in jail, working like slaves under horseshoe shells, match maker; watch, maker: Burning libraries but no one’s crying. Donna dear’s tears repelled the vultures back to their hot milk baths. 
(meanwhile back in the states)
There wasn’t any central parking, no grass or benches to sit on, just driving driving breathing in the hot exhaust from automobiles. 
The cave was about to collapse when I decided this was not to be our tomb (2M).
I propelled our cylindrical mirrors (reflecting a french kiss) and sparked out into the salvation city traffic, whirling and buzzing like a pace maker in love. 

{sundown}
As it was “deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness” Day, I took the illustrious archetype, Margaret Pheramone to the Horror Vaccui. 
Before dining, we traded our skins to each other. This was not all bell Holly’s and belt buckles as I had made it to be; it was merely a diversion to present pheramone with gifts from my very own veins.
[Exhibit A:] White Wine Tulips
[PROCESS:]
“When fermentation has run its course, the vintner will stop the process and filter the wine to remove solids and yeast remnants. The tulip sap is then aged for a period of one week to a year in stainless steel, oak, or redwood bathtubs, or it can be aged in the bottle. After aging, the wine may be blended with other wines with different characteristics to create the desired style. The next step is "finishing," a process by which the wine is stabilized and filtered before bottling. Substances such as egg whites or gelatin are added to remove astringent substances or proteins, which can cloud the wine and give off flavors. Sulfites may also be added to prevent oxidation and bacterial spoilage.” 
[Exhibit B:] a new copy of the old ‘Lie 
[Exhibit C:] Christmas with Coppola 
I later confessed my love to Margaret Pheramone, by arranging her blood mother and severed sister to perform a signing telegram I had written: 
“I want to stand next to you forever, feel the flush of your cheeks with my lips, make your pain lessen as we gaze into our fragment eyes. I’ll be your conjoined Siamese twin so we can never be apart, because we already share one heart. From this skin, I can only see my lust and devotion grow.”

PHERAMONE: “I love you too, guerilla combat”

The Horror Vaccui was moving on amphetamine as we listened to the Juxtaposition Cabaret do their rendition of the classic “Manet moves Gangrene”.
Pheramone ate like a trapese artist in isolation where as I was simply content sipping on boudoirs and observing the digestion of the disjointed picnic 
The Juxtaposition Cabaret’s lyrics are so brilliant I must add them in:
“Sincere as gladiolas when the seasons were cold
the genes of donna dear shaved off Monday morning
and clinked and shrieked like rattle snake callers.” 



I paid the Czech, with the paint from my pig intestines (thanks to the Brown Ballot).

{dusk}
The virgin astronomer was casually sleeping with his eyes open when a pack of cigarettes made mosquitoes bet on the 7th inning. It was 7:30 when he turned to salt and the tables formed beds used for dog lapping astronomer sweat. 
Amidst the attributes of the blast, the censure of salvation city charged into the chide to condemn, criticize, denounce, denunciate, disapprove, finger, frame the demo-centipedes for all the blood they had wasted.
But I hadn’t thought of that; too busy kicking off my shoes and doing the deca-dance. 
Oedipus was slowing up.
Paris was loving Paris.
Parus was loving Parus.
Lulling vocal chords like basket cobras on William Tell’s blind date.
Slashing through obscurity, smacking all the Dutch wives and amateurs.
I’ve heard about what’s left of Van Gogh when the symbolists and rationalists were wrestling with the angels.

{twilight}
The octobex and octovus were busy selling all of us 
To settle their old debts between the Eskimos and pence 
The serpent belt was sneering and the diamonds kept on ringing
I said someone “pick them up” but they had all gone out to lunch

Break beltzer, blare the trumpets
Branded czech with radio static
Bring the dust back to the attic
Sacred hearts for sacred wars. 
Yellow pills that light the plane
Tentacles call us by name
Digging us like rodedendrums
Sacred toungues are sacred forked

Meanwhile, in the jet stream
We were camped out in the clapping
Widowmaker wore our mothers skins
The sun had sold us out again
The endless chant of industry had us bent on both our kness
We soaked our iron toungues in wishes as we swallowed our old fears
The level cracked as we were being tracked by a pack of bounty hunters
Alamony siloutettes sawed off reflections in the glass
The sands are royal, gases mustard, made our skins bubble forth silk Cloth birthmark stark and connected start to draw a map of where we were once
Trip/ Across/ The iceicles/ With two eyes Like meditation
Spot those cats in kaledescope traps; slave ships, safety nets bow down before the czech.
We can see/czech
The sun rise/czech
Fruit flies to the womb/czech
Czech is your master, czech is your master
Control contrive contract constrict
We were riding mustard crust mona lisa but then the eyelid snapped shut on our fingers 
we thanked the good lord for the chips to the casino but they were lose skin tuxedos
we were dressed in soup design and attracted clouds of flies
running this shift like black mascara nights but they were no lights
obscure and plastic pink pajamas called our sickle cell:
we had a red, blue, yellow hot one 
kick off your shoes and do the deca-dance
10 10 10
we were men
9 9 9 
chopping the white of the alpine
888
William Tell’s blind date
777
organs for the headless orphans
666
aphixate in plastic bag bonnets 
555
I hate your fat fucking wife
444
it’s like the statue of liberty said
333
bring your lungs instead
222
ballerina

The octobex and octovus were busy skinning all of us
Replacing the bars in jail cells 
Sail the flesh , my turtledove
The muscles in your neck rely on purchases collected by the eskimos and natives of romance
Ladies and Germs free Slaves 
Break In from Concave chests
Each at Different Pages; But it Spread To both their eyes
lucky money
fun was
tr ick
ly die
et ing
pl us
I was
Tr ying
To fall
In love

Sugar/salt/ Makes malt
Glass/brass/Thinks like Demo-centipede
Try it out; Yolk from egg, Plastic mouth patricia, at the Boa constrictor sale 
Trimming nails, demi god, set your sails for kingdom of the 
Laws for broads like plastic mouths and shut it up down

Octobex was smoking as the peacocks kept our hands trapped
We were tides of barely sinking, like a woman’s halter top
Below the deck was barely freezing and the sirens were ablaring
Cops put down your sour sorrow and fake until tommorow

Patricia aren’t you coming out?

Too much smoke I mean red your body language like Japanese fire engine 
You say we’re moving too fast, to that scorpion bubble bath
I mean I’m English, but I happen to like math
Patricia put your trust in my arms tonight 
I we me mean doing the deca-dance

The OctO Bex and octOVus Were busy Lounging Under all of us
ring ring
twas the mayor
and baseball players
cream rinse, since the birth of birth
submarine panic from sourdough mother 
up in and out the twin engines
3 dollars wore the pathological liars like fine furs.

[END VIENNAGRAM:]