Oblivion is full of so much optimism it’s almost time for bombs to go off and I haven’t
selected to right hue of lipstick   the one that suggests ripeness with a hint of ironic
smoldering   that I’m on the market   that I’m sold   and about to blow up   cherry mist
in the dust of biofilms white teeth chattering as debris flies by in arks of broken memory
dendrites of hypothetical romance    I almost loved that man  he flies into a pile of time
and materials that will be used to erect the next empire  I almost saved him  now his limbs
are in a stack of charms and will become my quartz shackles after a hundred years of
elegant rotting   my   laughter and accessories

To be clear these are not my fantasies  but a choreographer must not only build the
gestures of the dance  one by one she must demonstrate  them    are you ready to
move beautifully with me this  winter   between decay   & totalising optimism   utopia of
mayhem  and   opps   and  feds  and   that girls   and    magic    auburn thrashing
that turns   their collapse   into black leisure     are you ready with me?