Edited By Nick Piombino - Goodreads

#32
Even the desolations of November have been erased
by further desolation. Good clean death,
gold and violet death, our necessary consolation. Yes,
put a user name here in place of the real one
that has no compunction but bleeds itself white.
The usual close-ups of thickened tongues,
of gray stubbly fields and bones picked clean,
melt, spreading a viscous puddle of unmeaning
that begins to drip down a staircase, which is circular,
which is over the top (Lo! The footfalls descend!)
but continuous. You step over it. It turns and turns out
Jack and the Beanstalk was a story to climb up,
Augustus Gloop was a name to laugh at,
and therefore a life was a something to do something
to? With? Alongside? Kiss me
goodbye. Good boy. Now go outside
and get some disinterested sun. Pour it over
your blistering palms and pulpy eyes,
over a life that was
not more or less than a single soul
wagered on a single thought, a roll of the die. Lose
the explanatory violet and gold. Offer it over
the yawning dark. The talk. What
did you say? Gum, gum and ordinary gum.
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