HOSPITALITY after Ángel Escobar I get Rimbaud down from off the couch & the Father Protagonist puts up a fuss, giving forth such yells, but singular—tho gritty, solo how they hesitate at turning virgins, these doctors! yet con so splendidly the faggot torn, only busted loss holds, the shades, the symbols & soon every whichever is a symptom the delivery of the pill, little white eye, comes late. Time of the giant leap from out the Ides of March & on witness the hanging archives back away. The conquering exploiter hit up, & his surrender mirrored the upstairs— responsibility & culpability a loss of telephones, all the aged models overly concerned with juices & wasting hypocrites. I trace Rimbaud’s escarpment upon a basket about the eye well tempered, & healthy like all you guys. You say “It’s nothing to me, apparently.” Joy in tranquility, sitting to write, to bully that no laughter bothers at all. Joy in tranquility.
THE CHOSEN after Ángel Escobar Stake it upon the stone of the leader. Yes upon the stone of the moon. Know your comfort is nobody. Lose yet still you know the moon hey yo leader yo stone. & still the substantial ceremony of promise comes of tidal ends here. Upon yo leader, yo stone, & yo moon that no drum nor stat not even then that during lazy & vain days minces banish. So nothing separates my self from destiny: this day, the monster, animal without limit. Well, come on, whatever, infinitude dude the leader is the stone yo stone is the moon. Moon, leaders, stones no drum joins results. Not even drum may face the faces of the lake. Because yourself alone glamorizes willed success. Yo discourses paternalize spectacularly. Because yourself in each every proposal moves wasted leaders, stones yo that moon drowns the Man. Yo dude can’t be conclusion for ones so useless even fools. Hey to do else is to disappear. It’s always necessary yet nobody justifies stepping into symbols. What a horror. My body is the drum of body actual. Nothing to know of white explaining not even The Knife. For only repetitive pasts have worthy reason. No edge to hunger’s extension, fated only that you assist my stay. Not passing thoughts of touch, easy recalcitrant, the gusto to take a walk yo see yo to care yo who been discreet comes invulnerable. No torch touches this final hour. Only I get nowhere, only I get the obsession of myself.—Look yo no hands number-one yo center of the bunch which is no more greater numbers yo fools yo eclipses—. I’m jungle. You land like it’s your own again. My blood abides despite blocks hunger jumping along as I run
figuring ahead of the cut. Aloha drum the cut. No dice buddy this vow is faith on the side of the play you take yours & aloha the sign of murder. Today’s ceremony has no lawman to sacrifice. Ah, you take off in a hurry among long lost friends spent dice, the worry yo no nomenclature. This too again imagines too much the veil of dream. Guessing towards an ordered sleep. Intuitive promise of a vigil. What’s the use. What the fucking hell. O belief intuit yo seer yo self. Aloha my cred is only cred if & only by shock hint yo dark yo is placebo yo no tumult. Yet enter light yo eyes look yo heat. Well you little shit. Well you little fuck. Well realize criminal brilliance: moons, leaders, stones, ceremony. No quiet secrets hung, no quiets here at work the cause of hurricane hangs there in number. Buy a lie, bogus lies change everything: “Look there. Yo there I go alien.” No. You’re such alien goo. Look joy imagines your chances at death, writer dude yo line up, sugar the tear, bring doubt: “The Fuzz dares you be solid baby, descending through bliss blinded: hum, ensplendour, masquerade a bit.” This is the object. My death. it is my own. Today is bearable. Oh, no. what structure. What moon. Continue the spiral. Continue the circle. Yo what, this is the spiral the circle finished. Swept. Led honey-mint. I, led mist. Soon no exception. I’m normal. Give a guy a break. Too much pain tears the envelope. Today I split ankles with apology. Insolent, terrorized, longing, missed accident. Drum this white yo hard for entry. Everybody’s the worse. Drum sharp cuts to the blade. Drum sharp obscurity yo drum this east beast where no one difficult is such authority escapes recognition. Author's Note: The source for the original Escobar poems can be found here.