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I Am A Television Set

My cardboard has corners.
My orgasms are shaved by a toothbrush.
I will pipe you a music of
Gouged shoecream marrons, of
Peppermint munitions, of
Koizumi haircuts, of
Hedgehog genocides and beliptequet cartoons.
The paper windows look outward on the construction site.
The camera is digital,
Its fingers reflexive,
Its tentacles
Tax free but aggressive,
Unappeased.
The blood is unappeased,
Ironed by neon in the sausages,
Chafed by the droogipop,
Lawnpapered by the rip of the zipper.
Her closets are for sale,
Crotchless,
Bartering in icecream French
For the cellotaped strands of stale bread,
For the last telephones of the sunset.



Publication details: "I Am A Television Set" was first published when posted on the Internet by Hugh Cook on 2003 July 27 Sunday. Copyright © 2003 Hugh Cook. All rights reserved.




Fragments

She sang in the rain, contriving galactic anatomies,
Injecting her fur coat with ultraviolet bees.
Desirable, desired, desiring.

The geometry of alcohol.
The fluidity of shadows.
The stars are preaching without tongues.
An everywhere of roses
Seeking her snapdragon.





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