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ADDISON BALE 

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Addison is a good egg that doesn't eat eggs (or chickens for that matter). Keeping things sunny side up in New York City since 1994

 

I name myself rien

ISO profound experience of %25 OFF FRIENDS & FAMILY discount

I mean to write using the French en fait for actually

and for I am, I am. I talk to me:

You idle like a throb a humid palm weave of charred leaf .another country’s war.

 

Palm oil, oil, Orangutan, thingy thingy. Other country.

 

Baby, you’re so safe you read about fire just to pretend the burn

You remember ice on the fire escape

Cracked kitchen tile need not replace

Inside staves its own utter away from your suckle

You walk with Virgil and can see the apes

The apartment is lost like an egg

You imagine washing away with your mother’s uterine lining

A dot like a bic tip

Night sky split its Okra bellies over and over

A curl of the whole magic jungle come down ur head

This is shopping while the hairline lasts

A pink i’ve never seen this must be blood in the white sand

blood finger painted on an envelope

You have viable semen

A. Reason. To. Write. The.                                             President.

 

 

A reason to do nothing

Nothing. Nothing loving. Felled like a shithead sitting on

plastic-packed chicken breast

you’re bored but refuse the hunger

 

Art as obsession with permanence
 

 

 

As a fixation my girlfriend with her finger in my asshole.Has

indeed aborted other obligations.lush       breadfruit

with beebeeQ. her cheeks overripe with the end of sleep.

It took Baudelaire to make me

 

use my own finger     look no further     see fur  

see me        a tropic of a tropic

 

Yes. do I lie do I steal?

Yes.

A photograph pretends to be a statue

this sentence pretends to starve to suck the minerals

out of beauty as it declares itself stone.

She plunges. We jiggle. One of us

jiggles. We come, we come with knots and wishes of stamen

bundle of knuckles sauce packets and pillow cases.

 

This is the impenetrable we came to hoe out of our own dirt

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her/story


Her work as a sentence eraser in the baby blue
uniform with the v-neck and the clipboard and the
sterility of death that purifies her where she stops
like the Ganges which is also a dead goddess. Her
work as a place of worship a gut a hole an echo
or the skinniest part of that place: her work as a
minaret a spiral staircase a cheetah amongst a
skyline of poachers and elephants tallied in
blood ink how much for her sacred skin?

 

 

Pleading French to the sea
her story is incident of kitsch:
Qu’est-ce que je peux faire?
Je sais pas quoi faire!

 


Her work her work is kitsch is god
she becometh holy water stork or bruja
kingdom come!
to the pink dress to the maritime kiss
kingdom come!
her work in the factory of kitsch of shoes of fairtrade
kingdom come!
Kundera doctrine; Godard je-ne-sais-quoi
“Go out tonight. Get drunk. Have fun.”
kingdom come!
she becometh. And is said: here is me after
the odyssey

 


jazz jazz
blue blue


flicker blue-red


        finally

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