Life In The Day Of A Poet--CutUp

I told you if I must leave city I to Chicago go was there enormous capacitance embarking the plane copyright everything other poets stealing smatterings of conversation or paraphrasing texts perhaps ekphrasis would have be continued the song Anacreonic prohibited of sternly stop when I myself find no scientists to the myth, reconciled with poets they buy the spirits they am, but god already to spell of nondenominational silence I wrote with the drunken placidity of a New York stand felt sadly for something and the pain of good dirtied something of course cruel my sin soul reduced to television and insulin was now only one question of time and I did not know where it came from the window or reflected in this one of both manner which in this is reflected darkness and slightly it is expectation and unexpectedly finally the expectation of unexpectedly leaning on the glass the dark form behind its form or where it by unknown to have known to deformed is I confirmed it so that it has disconcerted break there now the ended by the solution under the dead by it a jargon I become have been stimulated only total surplus place immediately heart the lift of up the winter warm between states as a newspaper the insult of luck the pudding of blood makes we want get somewhere true it is not always a river which exceeds it is banks the intonation of misdirection several sounds it spelled same multiplying fractions by the overdose of the time splotch of trammeled memory random bastards mother fuckers without mothers or only clear motherless fucks stamping the striding in their own uprightness of found oneself doing " I am man" they say. (ash! I say) but… must an empty pocket in searching a couple rub coins finding only one couple balls to strong dangle and clash to the sound of the early bells of the morning church to that the endless fucking hymm: Solicited of thing… still further goes literenergy vampire its little girl speaks five time language he is possible he is from breath these accidents to be only people waiting to happen place this way mask around your mouth and nose and tries normally your most breathe close by laying termination is probable behind you this poem cannot up make it is opinion how it feels this poem lasts too long to that answer but I must be permitted this madness I wished this on me and in this wishes came true I must this desire be permitted old and love enough because I no longer feel the beginning in my life have no titles my day have no subject no topic is and the imitation of 4 billion year of question I is or what I was or will become differently de-believing this way much of where I have been you have been there and we seem same

For Nicholas Hughes

today is a good day
he said and found him
hanged in his workshop