Rob Lowe Ice Hockey Film

Jonty Tiplady

You are not my dominatrix of choice, historical webwork of texts
in a pimped-up version of brain fatigue. Roses are extinct
but other flowers don’t know what that means, or admit
through the snow by subtending laocoön of stars.
Brought together by a bad form of textual romance
it is no longer clear which side is subjected to which,
how would it be to not enter in, to not be at all,
the dominatrix who doubles me down,
their sadism only known in flights and a half shot
of decaf soya latté replicated by my butterfly
sadism alone. The summer had also fallen away
in prime-time recoil, I had stolen a latah star
from the residencies, the battle of giants over
the gynaecium of missing links. Soundcloud thots
dominate LA nightlife, void control urges on
to a co-sleeping speciality shop where Angel Colon
gets bouncer culture on the hunkered-down
streets of heaven. How far will that line go
and when will that prove, the isis palm beach kill list
uninstagrammable in its heavenly light
written in Galilée Garamond in the dark. Anthropocene twin
does this mean it was not a way to be gentle. Tooth-fairy
didn’t we think sin did it before. Who would I not be
in order to speculatively realist rip cifu,
who would I be in order not to sign off, in the order
of compromise and ahuman narrative, to have not to,
to have not to flee. Go forward, Aleutian cousins,
by the shepherdess of flowers you all knew, sleeplessly watch
Gary Cooper sketched alive on a train.
The truth in any case is different to say
and I’m counting on the universe giving out a heavy stave.
Right now a fox is sitting in the snow in Dutch Harbour
and we have already paid the price we would have to
go on. One goes deep, sacrifices nothing to preventing
the Other from knowing, suffers an attack
of nerves. Rob Lowe ice hockey film memory diet
we did not understand what he did. What do we talk
of when we talk of extinction, in the Papoose Lake
spacecraft of truth where the summer sky fell away.