The East Village

Carol Mirakove


we could have that eating game. telephonic taunting shakes my
apartment. most things can kick my ass. ice the shattered fist. there
must be a miracle cleaner. heart plaid and faith in humanity. dogs
need to dig. a realtime race scales no point in backpedaling.

these kids are hired for like $5 an hour to inadvertently piss off
already-pissed-off people because they haven't received any training.
bionic w/ bleach, in on the hooch, wolf down lady baby dna done.

check my inside wiring it hurts. and takes forever.

some other company commandeered the line.

not to diminish your superpowers, just to say that's what i was
thinking: I'll crib your answer. i could have cereal, you could / run
away with the baton. b/c last night, after bali shag, lazy in the blue

you ate post-can puncture. i felt strangely proud of you. i guess
those "bad" things are a priori.

wet and newborn. her middle name is recycling. the neighbors are a bit
put off -- it's an obvious stain. a musical mammal with a patch. dj
pontiac: leave it there? will you give me a dollar like they should
know what it is? except i have nowhere to put the speakers. chaos is
trying. i got a skyline. i am so putting on, & sparked.

head angled down, hair in the wind, & all that starpop: wheeee!,
salarmy. you are many brooms.