Tuesday, May 8, 2007


Tonight the ardent harlequins prepare a heist of the expatriate emperor, now patron of the passed and exhumed and the fallen lepers.
(He lies laden in leopard skin; the laity and the peity remove his sin.)
They seek a Eucharism of coin and monetarism, but no golden monism or joy will adjoin them in this emporium of the defunct.
Adjunct, we wait and bait the inhibitions of the marquetried performers and pilferers alongside incubators of death,
marked and tried by stone and time.
A guardsman coughs among the coffins, and I envision their marrow being spread between the narrow rows
like marmelade.

More on this later, I think. I just wanted to get something up because I didn't last night.

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