Thursday, July 4, 2013

Michael Dec - Pants in Portugal

Ten years' receipts for broken glass
Garage fool, broken glass and stale wooden masks
Citrus stained wood
(thunder in beer)
to bounce off clouds ping ponging oxen feet
A nervous plate
Reverse reverb
A bone in the sidewalk
A gas station makes a poor creek bed
Lungs under static tornadoes
The sun's imprint on my eye
my fingers are on fire
and the useful textfile might catch me a salmon
or crow
uniflex beaks available 
Meanwhile the phone requests sound effects
from humble beginnings
Muttering hamburgers 
Varnished mice in a uniform disengagement 
As Gwen left the dry cleaner
she became fragrant and so lovely
She might never know 
I am an open library

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