Monday, November 10, 2014

text || Lawrence Upton



weak anthropic principles

three voice

blood
music
a world
each body
stemming

sound system
sinking

the police
hack through a moment
that knows
pulsed
or delete
iconoclasts

gentlemen brains
trading as densities
they move together in this
as states of indeterminate age

you therefore die

this is hierarchy
of an instruction
a realistic signal
watch
over our own darkness
it began here
madhouses on the ice
treasure they open
towards the last grave

many collections of himself
will destroy the world

it is a rare offline dawn
reversed
the words
casting the clock
a standard
unnamed

lobotomies in the conference room
the dream of mind
moving birds
and plants
slaughtered by the dustbins
too subservient for time
when the news came over
dead in their antiseptic hands
he
is
dead
in the hill of heads
he is dead
and
Death
a mask of

he is fragile
inside the pain
he is a glow
impacted
taking
root

at sea
a boat
turning back
shelved
near the broken faces
look down satisfied
crackling sunglasses
into acrid transparent darkness
heads off
into sun
into the trappings


history of this
is not immediately stunning
upon the mob breaks
down in the morning
to the tank for water
sufficiency
in the gritty street
you hit him
with butter
the tiny velocity of this yellow article
the human energies in the face of personal business
the attitude crossed out beneath them

they were crowds

all this is not

head off
dawn online

a singer here

imperfect
again
a standard
unnamed
light continues

croaking

her cheeks
stretched
imaginary
separate
back into
transport

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