Thursday, May 15, 2014

Chamber Klezmer Punk Folk Waltz in A Minor ~ Peter Cole Friedman



Don't fuck with that bullshit.
I'm the kind of allergy that doesn't care.
If it's a happy thing, just pluralize it.
Obviously this is an act.
Literally millions of skies are forming in my mouth.
Congeal makes it sound planned.
A small hummingbird weeping for everyone.
Birds can't cry in 3D.
For my birthday, give me my past.
Hall and Oates knew a thing or two
about hair product.
I'm not informationally sound.
I bleep myself constantly.
There was a forest
and we lied about it
with concrete. I have a jumbo feeling
that I'm on a menu and you're ordering
the number next to me.
You'd be surprised how many fossils you can buy
on eBay. I asked a girl if I could
get her a strawberry milkshake
and she said 'strawberries are yucky you lose.'
Ah, to be beside your own synecdoche.
There is no redemption
in this life.
That was a question.
Bending the rainbow:
an average task for Ridiculists.
I learned most of what I know from Harry Potter spells.
You're not wrong to ignore me.
In the center of the earth
there is a small gender-neutral ladybug
drinking picklebacks.
You need only look to find the answer
to the answer key. There are literally millions
of answer keys in my mouth.
I hate wide kissing.
A tessellation for your time.
A real ghost of a guy.
The utensils all looked like hands
so he ate them.
Cannibalism is a national treasure
in my heart.
Nothing is official.
I'm writing to you in a totally normal state.
I write the most avant garde shit
out of any of you persimmons.
I didn't know he was actually a persimmon. Tell him I'm sorry.
No that sounds impersonal.
Persimmon, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
If you cross me again, I'll eat you.
Have you read Li-Young Lee's poem where he uses you
as a metaphor for a vagina?
I am the most well misread person.
Keep the markups coming.
Wheelchair by Dior. Casket by Chanel.
Morgan Freeman is narrating something quotidian
and I have a life-affirming boner.
My ex-girlfriend is listening to Patsy Cline on Spotify.
What could be sadder to me.
Maybe it's not too late to make everyone fall in love with my flaws
I think in a problematic way.
I'm going to start stealing weapons
from action figures. Little empowerments.
I need to teach myself ESL.
Need vs. want is a false dichotomism.
A cloud for a cloud.
Give me one reason to stay here.
What about music, Tracy Chapman?
What about the late 90s?
I'm using you as a sounding board.
Let's let Li Young Lee use us both.
As we were.
A catalog, a list, a cluster of related categories, etc.
I only want a little bit.
I gave everyone in Vogue a mustache except you.
That was a love poem.
Ocean-soft
~~digression.
A pain in my side is revealing itself slowly
to be my love
for pain. I never got the whole
thorns & roses metaphor.
Big deal. Bleed.
No, believe me, as an unreliable narrator, I totally understand.
Literally kazillions of lollipops later
and I still taste your saliva.
We're all so gross.
How long does it take you to call the hotel home?
Before you take a picture of the moon
do you ask? Do you say, say cheese?
No wonder the gloom.
Rae Armantrout is giving a conference on arms and trouts.
I heard it's pretty silent.
Ugh, you probably already know everything.
The secret to getting your hands to stop smelling like garlic
is to let yourself chill for 3-4 weeks.
None of us have jobs.
Oprah demanded I leave this part in.
No, I don't remember that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
The neural pathways are already so narrow why
make your poetry dance even smaller?
Science is dead.
Science is a little pink balloon, anyway, so why should you care?
So, if it ends, it's meaningless?
I'm not following my autocorrects.
A worshiper of an oilspill of sunset.
A sunset revised as darkness.
Sunsets are good for the environment.
Go paperless.
Go ham.
Go home or go big.
Those are my favorite teams.
It's not opposite day.
The hotel is forgetting your name.
I'm a sucker for spitting.
A brief descent into the Montana of her heart
and then the long-awaited premature ejaculation:
a few pieces of confetti
floating with the brio of dinosaurs.
The past tense is so fucking strong.
I mean, Jesus.
Exactly.
In the light of that, I’m still deciding if I want to be
spared the technicolor.
FYI the treadmill is running away
making people exercise
like they had just been unparalyzed
for the first time.



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