Archive for July, 2011

Room 96

July 31, 2011

Room 96
one huge, cracked, calf-shaped clay idol
from where
our essence evaporated.

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Room 95

July 22, 2011

It was nice to wake up
late every day
and not one thought
one shadow of guilt;
’twas nice to leave it a
mess and find it fixed,
to sleep a sleep
where nightmares were fat
and good dreams dress’d in gold.

Room 94

July 12, 2011

Down the hall, under the dim light of the gas lamp, I could see them talking. They were walking towards me and father’s face was pale, blotting paper pale, and he stopped and said something in mother’s ear, and she looked at me and shook her head. My mother is a –

Room 93

July 9, 2011

the place was mostly white,
no night at night – no darkness, I mean
postcards on the white walls
Bronzino Schiele a Lempicka woman
plus a picture of Dalí with Alice Cooper
some mornings I woke up and she was gone
and I could feel like I could breath
and in the white I could not see
any shadow of the dead

Room 92

July 6, 2011

“Fuck you, fuck you all. I had a sweet neoplatonic garden
in my room – yup, ’92’: so what? – a gnostic reverie,
(not to mention the huysmansian mini-bar and my plans for
a babylonian bagatelle), and now, now everything is lost.”

Room 91

July 5, 2011

In the middle of room 91’s linoleum floor,
a film cartridge reader, abandoned & running,
the attached Grundig TV set looping some grayish-green show,
skeletons hugging each other in front of it.

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