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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
Them Dead Joy or Some Them Duncan entire grass skirt open house or plainly snails gone I would steal a cruiser moi-mÍme-mine. Once, only paying customers opened their knees Football stars box down now Where I steal a look Hiss to look All stars in a closet My Me Mine Mys old birds good Christian missus And fell asleep in the oop-dee-doo the vestibule, comma. Requiem I recommend the finished lemonade. I hate the trumpets and I haven't any trombones Furthermore: Who among this explorer's club Unlatches the very Bring in a broom. Ga-ga almonds Vitelli and Ross obliquely put it thus: I & animals meow-meow/are better in the shop I'm do corkscrews To signal saliently tooly. Boots on my mind, on on on my more immediate lemon carcass O vers! black campground on whose tracks spit out pigtails on a non-oriental twenty-three year old and sassy yeux Seeing what's coming what year at you A Death In The Library & no critics Sophia Loren I feel your Mae West fill it with my portraiture, A travelogue meets with adversity and I count my ruin in an alleyway. Doctor Nabokov sends Cremora up to their room. Asia sits on me lap and if still again something the curtain rises silent nite torn from your arms Reimburse my visiting rights mine taking aim and and death permit me mine the dead. Falsely translated from Charles Baudelaire's "Le Mort Joyeux."