Exquisite Corpse 1
When do we know the world’s ending?
There is a musty, quaint sense of possibility.
What does the silence of a fact resemble?
Shit it’s all shit. You drive by and smell shit.
So what kind are you?
A damp wind entering your pants.
Why do babies stay alive?
“Because I am lost without you.”
Furious trees resemble the touch. What do I say to
If you go sit under a tree it will hit you.
Behind the supermarket’s loading dock.
Who is the woman with the twitching cheek?
The decision was mine alone. Until.
What is the sense of sensation here?
June 17, 1965. The station wagon had fold down back seats.
And I’m still wondering how you came along.
By sitting still for a very long time.
Exquisite Corpse 2
Why is your face so unreal?
Because since then I’ve grown.
Pray tell me?
Because I painted it to fit the mood.
Where does the act of a play begin and the world end?
On your beautifully landscaped front lawn.
How do you know the meaning of life?
Through the keyhole. With a long steel rod. At night.
And when else would I?
The sky is pagan, taking shape before we realize. How does it do that tonight?
By smelling the milk to guess the animal.
Where does one find a decent meal?
Omaha. I drank it out of a cowboy boot.
Where the hell were you?
In heaven. In Paris. In Tucson. In the clouds. Remember me there. Stand still and firm.