Reading Ashbery by Robert Beveridge
Sometimes I forget that the ways people talk can be twisted, scoured into Lautreamontian lines that writhe and wriggle into the subconscious like a man on the street telling you: “whatever you do, don't think of orange elephants.” And so the parade begins orange elephants who sing old John Lee Hooker tunes down West Mechanic Street. And to think that I saw it— oh, forget it. *
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In the background a neon bar sign spits green haze into the night. No, that's not it— the emerald dress and necklace 52