National Account

How do you recognize a lovely place? The rotten anthropology of superheroes hovers above the conference table, exhausted on the idea of dazzling people. A plugged organization of the moon like a turnpike undecorated by barely legal children — true stories end in the moody doctor city but I always say the wrong thing. Away from Las Vegas I spend too much time at the whale facility. I’m bored with awakening into historical X-rays of the NO MOMENT. (What showmanship!) Who does wear a cape underwater? Now Egypt is miniaturized and it may never rain again. Hurling bodies and collapsing lungs used to be honestly scripted activities — the stillness in the dream of important history. From now on your stillness will be happening. In the actual dream remember how the children were modified, the sputtering, Russel Crotty language? Friendly Calliope is no longer remedial in the crisply American landscape. Even snowy Vermont grows opaque, a diminished suggestion in the desert mirror. I feel as if I’m speaking to a dear friend but I’m saying the wrong things.I don’t like cockfights or you’d rather be my daughter, deeply, authentically factualizing our especially Southern roots.