Icarus '05

Valentine's Donk

This poem was literally fashioned out of concrete.

Don't let Rawls get wind of this

Daniels:

O but fathom my heart’s
beleaguered forfeit,
some merry hack-job
in blackest panties,
romance pro-rata

McNulty:

The best poem ever:
O Death Where is Thy Sting
or, tea-bagging a milf smoking
a photocopied cigarette

Daniels:

[ignoring him]
Nor is any loss
abstract-able.
Whose fearful pomp
delivers crucial salmon –

The day is goaded
’cross the tripwire of
her smile

McNulty:

[starts quoting Veronica Forrest-Thompson
then thinks better of it]
a.k.a. no slack resplendent,
your faded corpse-paint
edits only less frenetic
self-inflicted; the bookends
of our lives are sound &
song

Omar:

Indeed.

Daniels:

Put a Breendonk on it asshole –
Aeolian is all, and I the reed.
In ’76 I caught a glimpse
of everything, the darkness
spread thin as ink, her fingernails
cute as sugared almonds

McNulty:

Squinting at the legislature
foreshortens the money-shot.
Any mouth is theoretically
compromised if all you do
is rip & run

Greggs:

[balks, incredulous]
& fuck you very much –
the chapter headed
Scourge of the Dialectic
cross-fades all blissful-like unto
the setting sun

Daniels:

[increasingly agitated]
My rank protectorate
so discharged, night
terrors come in caravans
to mix my blood with olive oil
& tear me a new one.
This fear completes me.

McNulty:

This whole screwy cosmogony
chides us with spirit propaganda
[sings]
1, 2, buckle my shoe,
3, 4, murder a whore

Daniels:

Odi et amo…
But most of all, I love my job.

Prez:

What’s cosmogony?

McNulty:

It is finished in ignorance
and blessed with caustic irony.
How may any man
Not love and be deceived?

Daniels:

A little something called
Chain of command, shitbird.
Lord knows I’m tired of this
existentialist tourette’s, hetero-throats
& death breath…
[he begins to weep, gently]
I bury my head in her digital bosom –

McNulty:

– and show me yr tits on chat roulette.
I love you back
but it comes out pebble-dash;
fuck you
& fuck the bosses.
The poem is a plug.

Bunk:

[aside]
And the smoke hangs in the air
Like smoke.