we conspire in the corners of despair where we loiter for scraps of light to create a city that will save us that secret city rumoured in the spaces between words in those books the forsaken read when the wind drowns the torture of rabbits in alchemical and paludal forests in dreams in long mirrors a mouth ordering a sylvaner maps in the glass and a figure wandering in alcohols twisted alleys structures protesting the principles of architecture rise in fallen desiderata caressing irrationalitys meat and the grates over hades quiver with greedy suicides men with foxheads and green swollen cocks roll like barrels across the rigid thrones of money and their members detach and sprout wings catapulting to the darkness of heaven and exploding in shrapnel of smiles and destroyed seraglios the 9 lines looped like radiatori and its driver oozes everywhere and the platforms are asthenic screams we awaken with drool crusty on our confused faces and our minds grope for assemblages of hope and we name it city and it creeps in the walls of our infinite days
the city isnt some order of technology and permanence but a disordering of the senses so transgressive it must disguise itself in silks and qiveut and slink into crisp elevators where the fate of the world flickers like a schizophrenic emergency button and there if youre on a ride to the eightyfirst floor and it bumps like a rickshaw in kathmandu you glimpse its magic and the veils ripped and the wizard small and quivering and you go home if you can and lock yourself away from your distant loved ones and draw obnubilated maps in the mocking night theres the boulevard of knives where countess quogg exenterates her husbands museums of the novel wink across the nameless river where skeins of diseased excrement bobble to eager towns on the other side of the cranium cackling trams careen on shredded limbs and everyones laughing and lurching and the approved bistro welcomes us with open thighs and you you in your auschwitz of animals in your pooh jammies on the altar of indulgence like some escapee from the middle class and your pencil shuddering with excitement and every gram of your game ready for the chase though you know neither what you desire nor where anything is
the mayor of mind holds the key in its corrupt anus and all your lickings are to no effect you hobble on the crutches of memory and gasp the names of forgotten poets and buy a pass to the metro and descend what are these miscreants of mumble and urine who pace on the platforms of electricity everyones coughing and the mantras of the destitute unfold in the rags of the air you crouch against a wall that seems safe and not too filthy and the pussed old poke us and share the violations of their years the children of god i say were here together in the great construction of the people knowledge walks among us and weve seen the flag of truth flap its eyeballs over our squirming lust the city is eternal and it needs us like oil and we prostrate ourselves before it like novitiates without advancement or prior
with its free hand it slaps its own face for most of the day
and in spare moments it slaps the faces of others
and they pay it back in triplicate
it spends its time therefore in monstrous arguments
brought on by lovers friends creditors officials
and in the few moments it has left
it makes use of its freedom in a way that
startles everyone
and which always end up in small ridiculous catastrophes
