for thom gunn

i'm sorry you had to die at a time when evil's got this country by the balls, cracks them and sucks them like eggs. in a final rake of the heart throw out some vinyl records i can throw on like a pair of pants and dance my way through this crap. i'm so happy i'm suicidal, like a psilosybin trip that's moved in for good and his name is george bush, a hallucinogenic indole obtained from a fungus. fuck'm. it's a sad vacation; what can i say? i only write poems of death these days. nightmare of beasthood, snorting, how to wake?

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from garrett caples' newest book complications. i've been slowly reading it for a couple of days now. pleasure after pleasure. this is my first sustained reading of caples. jonathan hayes turned me onto him a few months ago. get thee to the link now and purchase this book!