a poem for today, 15 September 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of thirteen sentences and its image]
Absofuckinlutely.
It’s patronizing.
Nothing new really.
Feelings are always reciprocal.
Continuity asks to be broken.
Projecting whipped cream from her breasts.
War is the materialist essence of democracy.
Caravaggio and Rembrandt are considered masters of chiaroscuro.
Cold conceptual operations are not without their human cost.
It's like early John Waters before Divine was even adorable.
There's no time for fucking softcore man, it's time for hardcore.
I am lost in a frenzy, unable to find where I am.
At some point you need to hang your hat on the peg and recognize that you’re not just talking about discourses or signifiers.
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