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CAFFINATED
BURCH
Steady as she goes,
Mr. Burch,
consistency is your solid
state. Cracking ice
cream, chattering
spooooon
against the bowl.
CLANK, you are striding
down Willow with
the Mod Squad.
When the television is off,
crackles may startle. Is some
thing moving in the room?
You fear not, for you
know heated
tubes rattle when
cooling. It’s
scientific philosophy and that’s
why you will never sport an Afro,
smooth head Mr. Burch,
you calmly adjust apertures,
shyly constraining
calamity.
A monotone bleach of voice
calms the nation state of
urban kitchens. The couch lies
in the living room. The chair broken,
before it’s pushed out. Today you
obtain torso utensils you
will gingerly balance
bereaved of bowl.
It is not sadness that
alights
your eyes, barely moving,
Mr. Burch, but
washcloth event. Moist
consistency is your
solid state.
Violins strain, but you do not, folding
your hands, not fiddling, unless it is
to reach bodiless forms
reflected in convex spoons.
Steady as she goes,
Mr. Burch, your projection bends
as you turn it, banderly your head
elongates famously fine.
Did you just escape? For
you are speaking to me
separately,
deliberately, and your voice is
calm and distant. Smiling.
Your television is
ON.
You are not really in the Mod Squad, it
isn’t even on TV. You are too busy cranking
Polaroids in the back. You
quietly submerge your hands. Emulsion
smell in fingernail wafts as
you stuff tofu. It doesn’t bother
you, static Mr. Burch.
Pass the butter
controller please, the
movements you make while
in total stillness are
remote and minute. Hard
to notice looking straight
on.
Speed
in
stills
in
monochrome.
During the confunction of the Earth, during
the immersion of the film,
the mess, while explaining quantum physics
and baseball cards, fixations
and stamps. Matter of fact, you
brandish a telescope, your
eye twitches and you
LURCH!
AAAAAAAAA!!
Struggle with appliances,
the sudden outburst defines finesse.
Welcome back, Caffeinated Burch. |
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