[BOTTICELLI WINS WITHOUT TENTACLES:]
September 28, 2003, 21:11

{dawn}
The Cleavage Crabclaw cordially invites me to The Lobster Pound
Czech dissolution in the gas tramp meter, past the boiling smokestacks of Vaseline 
I set course via the Burning Burgundy, 
I alone will stamp on the foot of idiocy. 

Stop. Go. Fast fists of blow.
Such Emergency in sinus hierarchy.
I’ll miss these good old days; of soil and sand premonitions:
Look out of a stage coach window to the innocent waltz of victimized women:
Calcified widow; struck out like a match book bowling alley 
Curled under the wheels of a smoking Cadillac.
Yet I toast, with forbidden gasoline and a wiry grin, 
to the sights and sounds of such a glorious omen.

{midday}
skewing my fortune, My ribcage uncoils with burning crucifix charm. 
Diorama of nervous knuckles clenched to grayscale steering wheels…These humble hot ideas…skidding out with the steam press of beading sweat and trembling fingertips. 

Officer Asthma turns on his radar. 
OFFICER ASTHMA: “You better get your shit together.” 
ALEX VIENNA: “What does that mean, exactly…can you give me a hint?”
(officer asthma scoffs at the innocence) 
[CLASSIFIED:]
yet still, clog his arteries with my black tie disguise and let him reel and writhe
I dine and digest the degradation. The three point turns of it all. 
The red lights of my teeth buzz and groan like factory floorboards. 
Let’s drive this machine back to the ocean and tour the final mansion. 
Let’s steer the engine to the sun and blister and break for the first time.
the asthma officer’s façade is too heavy for him to float to infinity
and in the final scales of irony, 
Vienna is awarded the key; an exulted license to pull out their crooked teeth. 

{sundown}
“There will always be rules, but your common sense knows they don’t count.” 

(Grift outwards to the tape worm flats) 
The international sinus brigade returns for a rematch. 
The smell of dollar bills and herring sags through the ceiling tiles-
--{Brain worms vs. tape worms}—
(the chestnut eyes motivate and behead bronze sculptures of adamant enthusiasts.)
Control: For our enemies play violins of vomit and breath in wreaths of broken glass
(fraught with anxiety, the brain worms disguise themselves as dandruff shampoo) 

MARISSA BURKE: “The sinus republic of Paris will endeavor to complete the guarantee of the army.” 

Contrive: Sing the hymns of scratching records,
Of Derailed trains, of guilt and shame. 

15 apparitions of Buddy Holly seen in the neighborhood menstrual cycles.
(the tape worms sellout the seeds of the underworld)
(hybrids of the sultan’s gene ring out across the land.)

[THE LIFETIME MIRACLES WITHIN THE BRONCHITIS CHAPEL] 
give the tribute money to taxes and boil the mercenary in the celluloid sun. 
Liable aspects and personality defects sleep in patterns of the widowmaker. 
(The calico patterns turn into platters of the sweetest timeless lies.)
and the widowmaker salivates, the concessions await:
and ensnare the vain like tackle and bait.

(Monumental precursors in the corset minaret): 
The Fauna of the hyper real wraps with ego tentacles,
And the quality of the sting leaves the guests in gasp: “utterly revolutionary”

Contract: Grip the grime of the olive branch 

(the narrator now symbolizes his feelings) 
I am a paradigm of egotistic debauchery.
{dusk}
famed perspective glorify the collidascope city parade. 
Constrict: The sultan quantifies gratitude in his sexual pastoral.
To the far east, the Zephyr in Blue spews garlands of veracose contusions: 
The finest hue worn as a ring to scorn the enemies of pheramone. 
In the afterglow of the true ideal world,
Perfection perfects perfection in the form of conversation
Envy and the saint reflect how Vienna made them women again. 

[Showdown in the Ashes of Emulation:] 
From the soft lights of the burning embers, all spectators are ushered to their ‘sudo-futuristic’ seats. The hype around the event had brought together the “who’s who” of upper middle class Fall River. Dressed to kill; the room hummed like a Cadillac carburetor full of locusts. Before the event was under way, the audience was ordered to pull out a special wild card question. The implications of such were undeniable: to say the key word meant instant claim and praise as a celebrated intellectual of aesthetics. Didn’t the audience even get it? Had they known they’d soon be instructed to watch the sentiments of their future aspirations dissolute before their very eyes? As the last of the ring tones fade into the ambience, the lights sift down. The show was about to begin. 
A shadowy silhouette took the stage with a click of linoleum. A monotone seeped from the surround sound. The welcoming voice was of a corset with the bass and tremble down. Amy Schusser was what she went by; the smell of deceit hung low. To validate her intentions, the slides of symbolism were then ricocheted into submission; spattered up along the canvas backdrop. Glassy eyed reflections of pottery and memories of a romanticized life of artistic devotion. Although the woman had obvious talent, her works seemed to feature subtle portraits of vaginas. 
The lights rose to find a thin, sensible looking woman standing behind the podium. She appeared like she could be someone’s mildly inventive aunt… with a zealous affinity towards vaginal symbolism. 
The intercom snapped and hissed like a cobra’s devour under hot Asian sands. In a miraculous crackle of mucus, the once weathered skin of Amy Schusser’s began to loosen. A cat in a pillow case; Schusser leather deteriorates to reveal the true yoke. The smoke ashes of emulation reveal the apparition of Bruce McColl. The crowd gasps in a jigsaw frenzy. They claw and clasp at the primary padding of the sudo-futuristic seating. McColl closes the fire exits with the hidden powers of cubism. The ashes of emulation seer and singe at the sight of his wife: whom he sacrificed to the very same monolith of cubism. (McColl hangs his predecessors and influences before the salivating jowls of the audience. McColl steals the groom’s cigar and spills the tank of electric eels.) It was the showdown of renaissance to modern in 40 seconds. 
When the Duchess picked her favorite; the audience of aesthetics exploded like matches in the lion’s mane. They came for the art, but they stayed for the showdown. 

{twilight}
to celebrate and wait for a sanctified sunrise 
[END VIENNAGRAM:]