Sunday, February 9, 2014

5044. OH THOSE PHANTASMAGORIC WEALTHY GARDENS

OH THOSE PHANTASMAGORIC WEALTHY GARDENS
Putting nothing aside, even the magazine photos are showing you
holding a little girl, bowing beofre her, stipulating a love and
affection. Two hands in twin, together entwined, looped like
the string, perhaps, of a hangman's rope. How eerie is this?
And not the pilers are piling on?  -   We have to hear slander, 
we have to hear the calumny of paltry faces and empty minds.
Either way it is  -  and I don't care. You did what or you did 
not. It's the wealth and the riches, frankly, that grate me more.
I find myself embroiled in another frenzy  -  against those who
have and harbor. Against those who've lived off others. Yes,
though it's very hard to say, I say  -  I'll never understand the
industry that compounds and constructs, comforts and comports
these matters, and all their dollars and all their famous gardens.

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