written by Vandy Weaver, Hard Law, & the Boys
(clear with detachment & authority)

ego permutations claim seats - egos perform irreal functions (I command the
editor to splice & rearrange the figures within the briefing room) - oscillating
between night and day inner differentiation (no natural light
nor weathervane) no suits calling out
the time and temperature as we
exchange seats. an unseated podium.
(start two lines off right with a bellow - second gear is a pond)

the boys don't care to recount what they
experienced last night:

     "we're busy tracking the culprit
     and we can't simply snap our fingers.
     "the culprit is found smoking tobacco
     and reading a newspaper.
     kiss Mule's swan
     and swallow the key for good luck
     'cause once he inspissated the cycle
     we folded his hands
     Weaver overlooked Vandy Ridge (give it a sturdy shoulder holler) ain't that right Vandy
I'm not sure if it was HARRIS or WEAVER who made the original purchase, or when the affiliations
with this or that (e.g. Trans-Sect Crucifix,
Coushatta League) were severed... reversed... what I do know is the Free Bullet had to be returned
after that fatal solitary misfire. Thinking
antique synonymous with prop, HARRIS packed the weapon with loose pocket gunpowder and
thickheadedly aimed at the panting Lab.
the neighborhood didn't like the sound of that and ransacked his "home away from home" after
HARRIS redirected his aim east of the river.
after spending a few notes resected from sunlight... after steamrolling the owner of the concrete
slab... and after bullying half a dozen
balustrades or so... only after all that did they try him. and they would've nailed him with SPREE if only
HARRIS had developed consciousness
during his activities. but this is all water cooler talk an-

     please can it boys. our department selected blinders over action for a reason.
     even if V. WEAVER crosses the television wearing forbidden mohair we are not to prepare.
     no hardcopy a no game plan, no poker face and no hand missals

   You fail to listen. I admit the trance is back story. and we've moved on.
   to the more melodic materials of this evening...
   stiff thin-wall pours
   synesthetic unabbreviated tambour
   projectionist's plaster lined with metal
   antiphonal aphonic solecistic spit
   novelty reassigned to the duty of misanthropy
   a geodesic error that indulged church mice liberalities

     (hands on waist) I may fail to listen, but I never fail to underestimate your ignorance.

   be sensitive boss
   it's our first time in aphotic depths
   only now are we learning that hauntings are composed of
   ego permutations; the runoff of asexual reproduction
   only now may we learn how to monitor our spirits' reflexive delusions
   in order to exploit them
   in order to redirect their focus behind our gaze and nudge them
   towards full externalized solipsistic possession. in the direction of our believers
   placing them in harm's way. now we move on
   to bubblegum morality:
should the blindfold be removed or embellished?
I know how I would vote if I were you. it's not the voice I mock, it's the outlook
perhaps they too know Queen Bee? consider, perhaps, that I would like to change things around too
they won't listen to me, understand, and that now, somehow, my suffering is compounded beyond
however, I refuse to tread Partisan Path whose punch line is genocide every time
the joke is cheap and the punch is over sweetened
I won't spoil it for you though. you decide whether or not your eyes soak benthic
or valor

  here's your only ugly choice; the one the boys don't have the guts to tell you:

you want to boastfully stroll while wearing the blindfold with the jewels; the puff paint; AND the
laughing tongues,
informing the civilians of your motives.
they are immediately impressed.
you'd be wrong to follow through
blindfold or not