David Lau

He is for a long time bleating the embassy collection: (water-resistant cot, a resurgent stretch of storefronts to dive into, compadre,col legno, funding the new permits, pleasing room, murderous rain. Near-spring night, stars on flat blackboards, essay estate questions passed person to person. The lottery window I turn red past, hyacinth-lanced dawn. In green tree talk the transcriber dons a dark robe, a mirror. The notebook discovered the parting sun, magnificent trough, blind hair on a head of state, streak-woods in the winding road atlas—stranded shore. Pose in flight covered by weeds, claw hair-rocks, Pullulation. Push-up. Push-up. Pestilentia reeds announce—trebly isolated, a closed trio, the trinity trick-fucked—in a.

He strolled from the hill sound of sacred scales. A sheet on his head (arrested for something), they surrounded him, Hera speaking through his mouth kept the lid on his appeal to Caeneus the Lapith, who had been a woman— moon spread on the all edge of standing water, the bleachers where they left the bodies. That was the sedgy day, invisible contagions stretching from our roof on which the fresh trails of spilled pink... to the aquatic plaza, one sandal at a time and the bottom of the room beguiled us, below the carpet covered with sand, where they used to run down the slums. Athena's oak prow, oracular, from the grove at Dodona: the team started the troika. Many leave. One went in. Many Jasons. At some point Orpheus was on that upside-down boat beneath the bridge, but now, through its hull (some planks missing), the ancestral bricks shimmer. Rare is their tide.

Negative, chalk (how I first saw your sign) reads like smoke signals. Has an extensive collection of glasses. On this side of the earth, no sides: where we practice our marksmanship, like soldiers in the city square, on corpses, no matter many beetles in the grass. Find it. Obstinately refuse to grasp. The spades, today valiantly shouldered, submerge in the unprofitable patch. Beetles are back-up plan zero, the if I were you thing inside the water container, which is too blind to trust with the wheel, to leave alone, even if in for the eve. The wounds we gave ourselves have just begun us, irreligious, and are the deterrents, as escarpments, of else but warlike heads. Go get your own aquarium, each fin becoming coiled beneath the bus, cruising along. There you'll find the nasal passage. Ask the operator for extreme commitment from the lamp shade to the table, all reflected in the unwashed window. Table of omens. Flotation devices murmured and murdered. The shutters of thunder are forlorn like the song of the sound of my own voice: a different tattooed country. Nationalism. At the rally, everybody's grin gives away two bags. All are watered, her body slipping out from under the dripping awning, effortlessly.

My observation are as follows: still dirty “in the wisdom” that is constructivist red theatre pieces, bike gloves all like a mashed crop of dyed hair, a bad crop this year. We started the play at once: An Enemy of the People. A Buddha of lapidary contrition enters, hospice, tears,La Clemenza di Tito interlude rolled in tulips of decisive consequence. Sprezzatura. Our row throws that cosmic scratch, apotropaic, scalene back to the corner pocket angle on the hustle— “Live at the Paradox.”