On Exhibit

Welcome to my museum. If this is a real day with real people in it we should give insouciance a another shove because we’ll need it. I’m a mad little trumpet today, a feeling disguised as a sharp bright noise. I didn’t think the neurosis would’ve gotten this big and walked all over my nervous system in such heavy boots. Here’s an interesting exhibit it’s a string of domestic animals filling the space between my furloughs. Glass case with a perpendicular speech act and the face of Samuel Beckett at age 78. Lustrous horse and a gun made of goose bumps. It shoots real nibbles. This makes everything inglenook and perpetual, the way paper trembles under a load of words.

Words do everything. Including thrust into ridicule feeling discontented and logged. Prayer is a bright multicolored beetle connecting interrelated elements for food and posterity. Or it could be. It can be anything. This is a word and it can be anything. It depends on how you read it. The boat’s rudder will not be affected by your uniform. But the journey could use some old-fashioned navigation techniques, malleability and rubber.

If you ask me mysticism is celestial softball poker is a waste of television and matter is a form of energy periodically manifested as a tape measure.

Wicker fiction touchy fish that establish protocol for the behavior of water. Comical replication in a suitcase headed toward kettledrum olives. Is it literary to have more than one metaphor in your pants? Myriad virilities jiggled on a python patrol. You could say heat is a forearm frequented by shampoo. That would be masturbation’s model as it scrambles for soap. Or that caring is a landscape within the reach of novelty.

I’m particularly wiggled by ninety protoplasmic mops. One of the things I think we need to take seriously is musk-ox. There’s something very powerful going on. Why is it easier to imagine the end of the planet rather than the end of capitalism?

Avarice, in a nutshell. It explains everything. It explains heaven and fog horns. It explains patchwork and rain and the 9^th letter of the alphabet which is just now inventing ice.

Merriment ensues. There will be licorice in our social conduct and root beer in our conversation. References in the act of determining fruit will be baked in semantic shellac.

How merry to marry a skirt. How merry to needle a toga. Together we will thread the air with rattlesnakes. Paleontological stars are perched on a backpack. An occasional nudge rewards my prison. Nearsighted recognition of a tadpole on a prescription for cough medicine the way I see porridge is large leaves and a renegade desire. I could leave now walk right out the door but instead I’m going to offer you a strong current of water and a ticket to our large stemmed glass parade. It begins at eight and soothes all substance by emitting little waves of sound and nomenclature.