A Text Inspired by Robert Kloss’ AoA
By Ken Baumann
The rich pay for busted hints of deathlessness.
You learn to say the name the color of old spirits.
The rich feign at entropy.
You name your dream: prison.
A plan is formed.
The ocean forms the ideal excuse for luxury.
Again: you want to keep on, skin in skin.
A voice taunts your ill form.
Whispers on board: blood, gulls, scarred bellies.
Land: love is capture.
You are left with baubles, pickled losses to be.
Some complacent love formed in a miscarriage of tents.
A voice relays your timid width and stupid legs.
Except for dogs.
Crept under snow: a plan for murder.
Can’t write that down.
The saved watch the unsaved go gaunt.
Dumb fucking love.
You wrote your death out again and burned it. Coward.
The men go out and work themselves into double amputees.
Burn the dogs.
Death alleviates the weight of the worst.
She draws out a suicide pact, failing to convince.
The soon to die eat the new dead.
You just wait.
You move your hand to kill your love.
A voice taunts you, asks for lightning.
Men like you were come ashore.
The voice: asks for dawn.
The city came up, without you.
Crystallized honor, your father’s statue missing.
The swarm asks of your blood.
Warmed by Robert, the journey’s first seer.
Robert walks wealth.
Robert wants your dead woman.
Industry flowers and chokes.
Entertainment flowers and chokes.
We are given reptiles.
Ken Baumann is. For more, see kenbaumann.com.