Filip Marinovich

for Julien Poirier


New New Yorkers know how to estimate the real value of their city.
Some even dream of abandoning it all and go far away.

LEAVES. You are entitled to leaves of absence in water
treatment facility. You receive a telegram telling you there is an

emergency in the future. The first step in the process is flagellation
which refers to gentle agitation of the treated water for a period of time.

It’s wonderful to stink in public. The people at the table next to me
put on life-jackets as if the extra layer will protect them from my scent.

Uh-huh. The still-life starts to rot again. After a couple of days
everything becomes a desperate craving for home. And Hygeine

can hardly form an idea of the conditions in New York
while the Plague is raging. 5 (to) rage, (to) be current

almost everywhere. The wheels of the dead-carts.
How can I salute the fireflies in the shrub-tunnel without your wreath.

The fans sing songs in the street for their team. But in here
watching porno and gameshows we wash our feet.

The only joy left is in movement and I’m moving toward
outer space where I can relax and take in the crowds

and tropical birds in burnt nests. The bombed building is
our jungle gym where a long yellow tongue of

flytape hangs from a silver chandelier studded with black gumdrops.
I feel there will always be something between us, namely the Dante icon

hanging from my neck on a white wire coathanger
but as long as you’re willing to bear its impression

on your white, ivy-colored body, I will be willing to carry on.
Horrified? I told you the subways are full of hot guys

who died at twenty-nine. I’m twenty-nine.
Exhume them one by one. "Report to the front desk."

I’m too busy to exhume, reading Novalis, dead at twenty-nine
soon after his girlfriend Sophie. Consumption=T.B. The waves

reached my apartment. I haven’t started yet and I’m influenced—Hi!—
by announcements you made underground. "HIBERNATION HAS BEEN CANCELLED."

Sani pants in the back seat, cars pass by, it is sunny today in the city.
On my way out of New York I met the third Elizabeth at the birthday party.

New York—a ward, a last call, a national team, the biggest mission, a well drink,
a closed ride, cormorant meat, legitimacy, roof, deal, cream, raison d'etre.

"I’ll suck you off if that will give you any satisfaction.
You can slip it into me from behind then," insinuatingly.

"Yes! I go the dirty route." "Hello! I see you are home.
I'm coming over now." Surprise! impatience kills you daily

while you chase the high boyfriend from the sun.
“Don’t swallow it, we can play with it in our mouths

afterwards.” Comrade Tempo, look! Cannibal
banquet lighting up the town, making the sky fjordlike

with a tiny boat inside it. Hi Mom, The Blowjob King won
and took my throat to outer space so I could scream at God

but the baseball field burns slowly in Baghdad, The Homerun King
rounds third, slips on an oilslick and breaks his neck. This ball

player I have in mind, invented by The Word, will lie in sand, in state,
until Dr. Benway arrives to perform penisectomy with sardine can

lids. Have you ever found yourself unable to remember
the emoticon for MISERY on hearing an enemy's name. Like in CHAPTER 1

in which it is related how Monsieur Thongboss is blackmailed and
Madame Andre Fontaine, completely covered with rugs and turpentine,

washes her hands with Hunter’s Soap, sighing: “Four more years of
Terminal Texas, the undead child president.” Like the guy

who worked at the pet store and then went to work in a butcher shop
tonight we asked: “Will they stop circling and bomb us already!?!"

A reunion; each of us older, slower to speak, breathe,
quicker to order drinks. "Ride The Lightning" races from outer space

and, galloping through the atmosphere, becomes a naked boy
cartwheeling to bed. Students smoking in dorm cells look up

inquisitively. What booze remains from the secret party you left
with shells in your pockets and fuses to blow yourself up with

before the suicide bomber could get to you.
Those who look to me for sensation must, I fear, repeat

the FIREBIRD psalm. In the city of New York,
of course, once you’re plugged in

the interior is the richest of the rich. “Oh, are you still there?”
It was Saturnalia on the other line mimicing the mating noises of

a splendid porpoise! “Why, it’s Monsieur Clovis! On with the fuck. I offer my body
in Venus’s place. I must be entangled in this." A young man came to life and his prick,

in Lucy’s curtained-off space, was dragged out, and his body placed
in a burning mausoleum. If Time had been, like, totally respected

it would have proved a ready detective. The tickets to Venus are so expensive
this year I want to take you there. Do you feel closer to Madame Fontaine’s Establishment

or the humunculous within. CLOSER TO NEITHER ONE.
Tongue the thongs. Severin, your servant, goes to cock-fights

and looks for the Brando bulge in WHITE COLONIALIST PANTS
surrounding him. “I prefer slow encirclement.” Carole Lombard! I prefer

the healed scar on the condor and a dictionary with taped in razor blades underlining onetwothreefourfive
words with infinite definitions. Gauze, pastry, timberwork.

You’ll be able to get the foretaste of a catch-phrase
if you press your ear to the chalkboard. "The dayspring

from on high hath visited us. The wind is dead against us.
Dead drunk. Dead-eye. Dead hand. And Dead Letter above.

William III died from his own hoarse laughter at the sight of a pottage of
wild herbs, none of which were tears." Shut up, Chalkboard.

One is New York. Living in New York is the first and most convincing proof of
AMERICA DEATH IN NEW YORK. New York, O New York, on the confluence of

three rivers, under the very eggplant-coloured welkin! Beginning
with the individual soldier, the next link in the chain of command is

fleeing to Paris. "Bellisimo!" I yelled to Julien out the window of Hotel Bonsejour.
Julien—we got real absinthe—chlorofluorocarbons up the nose—

drink up for a cool Rue Tholoze soiree. “Excuse me Mr. Hat!” called the Madame
under the sparkling marquis of Le The. I should’ve learned to play

your ribcage. SATURDAY NIGHT—a ripe time to watch blue and white
minivans speed down PLACE DE CLICHY and the bumper car heart,

packed with valves and auricles, honks—DING-DONG—as radioactive civillians line up
in used car-lots. Now that spring is here I will walk until all the dogshit is scraped off

my left shoe on the cobbles of Monmartre—Place DALIDA—
Chanteuse—Comidienne—1933-1987—Saturday night you can stay out all you want

but the heart is marooned on the sun, "a fabulous wicker island".
It must be the expounding sun-spots. Feeling tall, as if a glacier had nursed me,

I seek for the next café that will house me in the mist,
kumquats split open by farmhands drip. O cold Summer Night

pissing yourself in pajamas inside my beehive hair-do.
How do you reclaim the pyramid with all your car-parts locked up in it.

This sarcophagus lid hides a perfectly good Honda!
Plague parts the curtains disguised as a nurse with half a red

popsicle in her mouth. I wish I had waited for you, my dear
recruiting officer, at Chatelet Les Halles tonight, for my discipline lesson,

for I am a charlatan with clashing ensemble, unfit to serve, yet denied
Conscientious Objector status, fit for manacles and charged

with DISTURBING THE GEESE. Open the car-lot
to the wolves! The Bordeaux Vineyard is opened to movie-goers

who pass out in the green light of heatwave grapes. Get the smelling salts! The suspect
is made to stay awake so he can feel FLAMES eating through his couch.

Just as you shared egrets with your lover in couples therapy
you will be living in close contact with men from all walks of death.

The Angel of Death choked to death supping up the white of
an under-boiled egg. William III died from his horse

stumbling over a mole-hill. I once saw where underwater seacaves
suck you in and you bleed on green coral while girls in flak-jackets

with their purple faces breaststroke by. I feel ready for a whole day’s sightseeing
but a profusion of trees planted after The Great Fire blocks the way. “Oh how dreadful!

But thank goodness that kind of thing can’t happen again.”—“I hope not.
But the view is well worth the effort." And yet, of course, that’s only one aspect of

New York. Numberless swans float by and breeders throw them swan-bread.
Their cries are familiar to people all over the world as they are regularly broadcast

by NBC. So what if I cancelled your favorite channel. Enjoy
the world’s most exciting bus-stops, coffeeshops and snow.

YANKEE GO HOME. Apartment renovation drilling is our favorite
aleatory makeout music and the laughtrack we hear in our kitchen feeds us

its auricular end-of-day muffins. At a bankrupt farm the lady beside me gets up
to catch her train. I like being in Grand Central—a dirty bomb might go off anytime

that suits me fine! I walk into a publishing office that reeks of gas
and flick a lighter around to see if there will be rubble. Put me in

THE LUST COLUMN. Thank you for losing me in the crowd like that
otherwise I never would’ve taken a crowd-bath.

Thank you for taking me out of my tourist shell
and making me feel glossy mussel meat on table.

Even when it’s not full-sized your delicate lubricated
cock is my sweetheart. My slave! You have no will outside of me.

This does not mean you should not ask questions.
On the contrary, a full description of procedures is followed

when “under arms” is given in Field Manual 22-5, Drill and Ceremonies.
When reporting outdoors, the lover will move to


"Happy Birthday!" said Jacques, handing me a 30th birthday book.
"Here’s 'SATYR, RESTART US' in case you ever get tired of

the 20th century." "Yes, Jacques, isn’t it great to be out of it?
I went to a water treatment plant today and found after many years of

observation certain relationships in the field—'Ah! Ah! faster!
I'll pay you afterwards!'—can purify the city's entire water supply."

Just as you stepped on the secret sea urchin of the Hudson

PREVENT OR TREAT SHOCK. To be effective, let the patient move
before the lights. At evening service we offered seed-cake and colours flying

to support the human body in water. A quick return to work
is the best way of gaining health and a knuckle-duster for self-defence.

Ushered into a small chamber I amused myself with this book.
We still call one who plunders shops a "shop-lifter" in a husky voice.