ice cream

i am tired of the past crowding every day
a moments pleasure a tinkle a snap a pop in the apparently endless
flow
a prick or preachment… i pray…
i sky…
i a mouth of cant
i tongue its gutter…
i muzzle the fork in the maw oh mammon
delo macro
miroculipsis
maztamectome
taurik mats stam tusk…
it is not as simple as it sounds…
i want the flow to invertebrate…
to tumble in the sunshine and eat other miracles
slower and fatter than a harvest moon…
i want a barn with an alphabet…
i want machines that defy eternity
with an agitated algorithmic exactitude…
the art of it!
the boomerang that cuts and sings as it kills…
the whole deal is
not quite human but oh after work
is over and the mind freeze melts a little into its genital conundrums
everyone dances for ships to planets not seen on the screen…
to exonerate…
to place them in the trophy case
of ice cream…
to take on distant journeys to thirsty stars…

ice cream

Anthony DiMichele

Friday Harbor, United States

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Artwork Comments

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