Party at the Axiom yesterday, to celebrate the last performance of Daniel Johnston's Speeding Motorcycle, but also to say goodbye to A.J. Ware, who is moving to Chicago to attend Columbia College's graduate program in theater. As the Axiom ran out of beer, we headed out to Rudyard's with the Infernal Bridegroom Productions' crew, then to notsuoh.

Hence much mischief, and Surrealist wannabeism:

This one has lines by Alex Ross and me:

Near the junkyard after the train
cracks in the wood
burning into tarantellasmic fumes
it’s hard, but I must do what’s right.
The bus stopped before the dusty stoop,
sophistry beckons on the blasphemous
of yore into which skeletal remains
the sailboat titters on the coast
the crest of concrete waves crashing into
nothing is into the dark abyss
and computer-generated ghosts swerving
gulag branching off the church
waltzing out of parades of sock puppets
getum gross the last Apollinians
figures. Cigarette smoke twirling like dervishes
blank it must be so for in Kilimanjaro.

This one has lines by me, Alex Ross and Rebecca of IBP:

Oh beauteous night I crave
For abdominal spasms darting into a crest
Border blank the thought no war
Faint, the strong urchin, live upon dust
Of a cerebellum thrust into a bicycle
The gift of a night splash it all
Seed all sown farfetched beyond here
Which turns into a cedilla turning into a woman
Going into the night of oblivion
Far from yee & shorts of different sorts
Coming into an elevator. the quadriceps
hurt live knowledge bereft
Of name of place of time it simply is
A polymorphous retina twisting a sternum
Gospel table scalpel eliminated
It flies against all meaning, hearing; it flies
Into a man holding hands and glass candy
Never have a line in tandem.

Can you guess who wrote what?