840 Readings

Scott La Rock

O descant syntax, it’s memory vs. truth again in the desert, how memory grows defectable, how each night someone gets adulted, knifed, debacled. I feel rap-rock when I hide my eyes from what is not there. I jump from an airplane with only a sample-sized shampoo bottle of Pert Plus. Story untold: Cixous, Duras, Big Daddy Kane, etc.; abbreviated tendencies to think about Berlin; a copula of cardboard holding up the scum. We need a beat to beat back the backfat. Some buttdialed feelings, some rare brand of not giving a fuck, the desert tortoises, the broken glass: Scott La Rock. 

Posted 09/12/14
This poem comes from a manuscript titled Stevie Nicks, Scott La Rock, D'Count, Francine, and The Billy Ripken Fuckface Card.
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