SNIPE

You rise from some new serum contrived from some new
raining in
love with the volume of self in the midst. You rise
with some
blunt stomach with faded grails and such world
breaking and your
eye slides down a rifle's scope to limn variable
pressure on
restaurant overcrowding. Shoulder-to-shoulder we
gesture and
carry our blood down the blacktop away from roads just

unfinished. Further and faster we sabotage these
razors that
spackle in gumdrop our televised detournment.
The marksman: uncommunistic, lying in lyric
waiting for no
struggle of frontal blown. I must have awakened in the
shell of
new winter, measuring the frosts that jangle in my
hair against
the freezerburn on lyrical basilisk receipts. What
world there is
when she aims low across the street is sucked like
tequila down
to salt lemon lining for the roads away from blocking
off traffic
forever. Airplanes muscle the first tones of Eno
through a sky
unfounded and growling with sepsis.
The marks on the raindrop: the muzzle on the
rifle: the
finality of stabbing disco: where will we walk unaimed
for now?

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http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/


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