on the occasion of armand francis geraci’s last sandwich
CCII
V—,
Obligatory Bravado: I just
finished peeling the varnishing
off our House. Feckless and Recklessly
I retard the Social below-the-goddamn
Sputterings in text, no~? Okay, I got the—
got made a “Standard” i.e. Mustard
on my Collar and sent—
Sent it all to Sundry, and
received Chicago’s Sour Reply:
instantaneously of Mrs. Neighbor,
the Bitty-Blithe and one beside
the Pekinese Alderman fucking
beside the Point: this is a
verifiable Hoedown,
is what I say: “I am certain that I Ate
Armand Francis Geraci’s Last
Sandwich amidst the Hapticly
distracting
Bouts I felt against the
Bell” leavening—
Me unprepared for the
Roast
in the Mirror-Thralldom: i.e. Parting
one’s Hair, stylized as
“Screaming
in the Bat-Shit Cave” as if, Mollifying
many Impotent Mental
Midgets, No—
No, that Poor-Thang Chirping
is just my Mother, Métier, and my Monkey’s
Chutzpa Bravado, now Remind Me—
Me to tell you about the Slurp
I took, in which I Weren’t Anally
Suspecting that Clown with the
usual Boner—
Oh, where to Begin to
lay, my Primitive
Foundation for The Upchuck—
Upchucking the Post-Romantic
Encyclopediatic
Mono-Maniac-tic~?
