LOUIS ARMAND & JOHN KINSELLA classé-x
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1. shanty & tow-rope out of patriotic balladry eschews imitators of parliamentary crises. tonight we sooth our televisual ache, endwise knowing (as you cannot) that misspelling is only half the solution. as one, given preference for guileless holepunching on the frontiers of good sense or bad taste sallying forth like albumen from inflammatory prostates. or riding high in the saddle, lonesome cowboys squared-up john wayne-like to the camera’s all knowing eye, federal watchdogs at the gate & windsocks flapping. the complex of sentimental foodstocks, bonemeal & rawhide, fire branded (grammatically modified texts at 13% gdp …) citing nonexistent returns as immuno-deficiency, to stem cell growth & rebuild low in bodybags — domesday confetti spilling over the harbour, replete with progressive bankrupts strapped in glamorous warhols, object name image (or story), being what we read…? 2. we read political realism — we read roughshod over lamé upholstery, fedoras & collect calls from denver kowloon kingston johannesberg — we read complimentary hoax, forget-me-nots & scaled replicas of the USS Maine — we read double-dealing translators, agents of global saniflush & pseudo-dionysia. what damnable hope? what shot-apart wingspans across the prairie — this angel wreck, this prepossessed hydraulic love? cut out & set down in blood & wire: if you will not censor me, how can we go on? a mouth waiting to be stuffed, run up on the target range & casually sodomised like child crusaders led aboard in marseille & palmed off for a soprano — left with a grin or a grimace, but not