S. Foster’s pissant patience died yesterday at age 55, of iodine and mercurochrome and basil and thyme and telephone pole notices and pig bristles and acrylic and porcelain and Rand McNally deserts and sheeting rattled by the wind. S. Foster’s weak and minimal patience died yesterday at age 52 of dimethyl perchlorate and flame resistant foam and persimmons and symbolic swans and asymbolic bird life and random enumeration. S. Foster’s last patience died yesterday in Burbank or Glendale at age 57, or age 46, extruding glistening framework, extruding gleaming intestinal blood, frothing a hollow distance, having suffered some extended languishing glissando of plush frenzy. S Foster’s petulant stripped patience died yesterday at Chortling Avenue and Gargling, aged 144, up till that time the oldest living patience wholly charred from the inside out like a burnt out Bakelite radio awaiting a signal, empty exoskeleton.
Scene shortly afterwards.
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March 1, 2012 at 6:32 am
miri
Pushed forth into appetite. It and its black light. “Frothing a hollow distance” that echoes lambent. Chiming echoes like twinned scapular moment. Momentary windfall or rain whipping across tilted faces. Rest in fury. Peace be damned.
March 1, 2012 at 5:43 pm
don newton
early & late, death stalks East L.A. Dirigible ATL, suggest black mourning bands draped around local craft, black flags at every station, keening & wailing on takeoff, sacrificial bonfires of delusions every night at dusk…ahooooo
March 2, 2012 at 2:24 am
sesshu
My Best Fake Memory died yesterday at age -3, mathematically inclined as ever, green on a green couch of hills and summers. My Best Fake Memory was known for movies & songs, pop star of his or her own flavors, winner of nothing, biggest prize dripping on butcher paper. My Best Fake Memory will be remembered as My Best Fake Button.