S/he couldn’t find a single inelegant
sentence in the fiat – where the burn
outs the combe is the outmost part
of the MSA’s leverage; where we find
lucidity, on the tarmac, you dreem sonar.
Stir at SeaTac?? Antiflash and aluminium
abstract in the radiopharm, in Nixon’s HUD
this journey’s long, cuts continental corners
through the frigid zone and the cold
contracts. Screems in dead playgrounds.
Here no-one fucks in the afternoon,
there’s no rubbish and rime
even is managed: you’re shocked when
tangerine ripples the blue recording.