Mashup of Karen Garthe’s “Hotel Sleep” and “Old City” and Melanie Brown’s “Matt dillon microfiche”

 

The Quick and the Lead

 

 

 

                                                                                                               the chains

                                                                                                           You said “I’ll go to another land, I’ll go to                                                                                                                              

another sea.  I’ll find a city better than this one.

                                                                                                       

The Pharoah hardened his heart, and would not let my people go.

So--

                                                                                  Spinning

welcome to the Mad                                  Bunkers Draft

                                                                                                      noodles and cheeses

Pesky diseases                                                                                                    

monkey suit

baby poop,                                                                                                 

                                                                    babies coo,

                                                                                                round and bound

                                                                                               a way to mascot

                                                                                              gist

                                                                                              perfect

dance the ascot, a place

                                                                                             for nesting cheek and hair

                                                                                             velvetly                                                                                                                  the panther goes

the Shadow knows

                                                                                            scores of

                                                                                            “What is a Mash-up?”

                                                                                            their ribs sucked so sweetly

                                                                                           the sheets I linked

the love notes I inked

                                                                                          and reading The Jefferson Bible                                                                                  

                                                                                          praybreaths

                                                                                         Remember The flamingo kid?

 

Do not spend this night in the plains of the wilderness

Lest the king and all the people who are with him be swallowed up.

 

                                                                                        Code: Life is more than meat

Mayhem under the master sheets

                                                                                       deviled microbrews and torsion                                                                                                    arts

                                                                                       lips of tables, old woman farts

                                                                                    Essentially it's up to you

                                                                                    fumbling for another

                                                                                    of flying trapeze

                                                                                   gleaning,  flicking dispersals

                                                                                   none of the blondes are

my type – they’re just

                                                                                   swimming in the blue

                                                                                  my duty in sinuous patches

                                                                                Chivalrous

                                                                                trapeze

                                                                              tiered

                                                                            clicks

so regulated, but --

                                                                           Mashing does not nec. involve remixing                

                                                                          the work.

                                                                          Remember The flamingo kid?

 

                                                                          achieving Gargantua of place

                                                                          on microfiche in my frontal lobe.

Now I can dream like a toad

                                                                          acres of dream

                                                                        of ethnicity

                                                                        the fest

                                                                      Lord

                                                                  acres of being

                                                                  Baraka-Marx assault

                                                                  Blithe

                                                                HOTEL SLEEP

                                                               how Little Scrap eludes

                                                             blurbed

                                                             thin gold marmalade

                                                            beginning to argue and wrangle, To Fend

                                                            remember The flamingo kid?

                                                            If anyone can say who’s missing. . . twice gone

                                                           gracefully

                                                           he can just stand up to the cedars and barbeque

light up his own whisky-soaked shoe

                                                           the Old African of bragging

                                                          café ballroom  

 

 

                           My spumoni

                        are not 5 sparrows sold for 2 farthings?

                        fermenting

                        their pendant

                        underground

                        what paralyzes or soaks

                        remember The flamingo kid?

 

Let it be according to your word,

                     Little Scrap

                     Little Scrap serves

              

                     Remember?