a pleasure & a torture courtesan in me a snake with enviable bells of culture dried thing in that reputation beg ging noticed avoided wearing comfortable guarantee & forced to currency of drink to the winds would you come gold & layered pro gramming which a essence a sailors fleet our liabili ty the sun […]

The e-mail from Hanoi reads: Babar was a colonial foil, beset by pygmy riffraff, whose trunk was the family tree of empire. Postcolonial theory adopts the unexamined rhetoric of adoption, bien sur. 

The whole cast of them in hands passing
Jack’s gapped amassed adventure version 
reads like Minneapolis at least. And

Something threw a bird into my line of vision.
poverty and suffering ennoble only when they are voluntary

people are multiplying their wants

And Who Is Crying
And who is crying
And why
And why am i crying? 

For myself or for the dead women? i dreamed that they, we, had blonde-haired selves that ate other such ones for food.

Since last I wrote 
my little bird
has turned into a cat,