Spicaresque:
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.
Friday, June 13, 2008
RUMI VHF
Cura, what are your cosmological beliefs?
Cura: Immensity exists whether or not
I am on board with the heft of its existence;
immensity is a sovereign trench, a follicle in a mane,
infinte granules.
Cura, you are always carrying on about your hair
as if it were the epicenter of your planetoid.
Cura: Hair is a supernova bouquet made from
the left-overs of the implosion of the sun,
the filaments of a system aggregate which reads
your features much as we read the magnetosphere.
Cura, have you ever been incarcerated?
Cura: The one time I was in jail I turned myself
in at the Fordham Police Station to avoid a warrant.
When I say jail I mean the interrogation room I was held
in for four hours while they ran me for priors, which they
did as a courtesy because I was a high-school teacher.
Cura, why didn't you have kids with your ex-wife?
Cura: Love is all about valence, sometimes, your charges
are not only like, but unanimous in outcome; and, sometimes
you drag yourself to therapy because the co-pay is nominal
and you are looking for someone to make you say the obvious.
Cura, how can you smoke knowing what we know about smoking?
Cura: My ancestors were heathens of tobacco and coffee adulants;
their eyes were cannabis-green so they dazzled dull sobriquets
into descriptive handles; moreover, overcoming dependence
on the nicotine patch is only theoretically easier than overcoming
the dependence on the nicotine in cigarettes.
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1 comment:
Uhh, I appreciated the cosmic oragami with the blunted tool of self-examiner. Oh I wear the altar boys robes to conceal my tuffed Satyr hooves
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