the Death of Paris and many things…

I am drunk, leaning upon this machine, radio
on, the announcer says, “he comitted suicide
in Paris in 1925.”

I like that.   nowadays people don’t seem to
flourish like that anymore.

all of our artists (or many of them) are
college professors granted grants
upon their comfortable safety
premiere respect

they are married (most of
them) have
children
large homes

they appear in proper and
expensive clothing
and their faces are
calm…

all right, of course, that
guy in Paris
1925
probably wasn’t much either

but I like to dream:   Paris
1925

when suicide might have been
worthwhile.

now
suicide has lost its meaning-
ful effect and

no wonder most of us choose
to turn into college professors
it’s

apt:

:you might as well copulate with
coeds as we wait to die together
under the governmental winds of
platitude.

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