A nod to the pairings of Ms. Jen Bekman

Stealth Bomber, Atlantic City, New Jersey by Nina Berman
The near presence of F-14s overhead,
not so near that the people can reach out
and touch them any more than the planes
can convey their double negative unaltered
to the mechanic and
to the scientist.
Not one person can see the beautiful woman
painted on the noses of columbine bombers
That distance is too great.
Even the distance of transcendence is transcended
by the variety of revelation equipment, never to return,
and it pastes across its limit
the image of loved-ones,
beyond which extends an impossible fiend
of absolute corpses.
it is feasible for the user to carry the distance
within herself, but she is instead carried
out of her senses in the belly of the aircraft
never to return.
*
When I am feeling not at all myself
I go into my house
where all my cool stuff is.
When I feel alive,
I am feeling you feeling me feeling
this rhythm. This canister of sulphur dioxide
reminds me of Haitian Vacation,
Guadeloupean Vacation. This Hum-
vee pattern clicks upside the embassy’s
landscape lighting, rinsed by
automatic masochism of
Livyatan or Levittown.com.pr
Forward slash: Sign my guestbook.
Contact Terrorizor.
Put the Internet into the hands
of a bunch of fucking no-names
Slang for “Urban dictionary.”
Put’er there, in that cybercrawlspace.
As for the supposed incumbent hoards awash
in verification,
an exit woulnd uniting
Kitty Harris with the liveliness
of pre-venison. For clarification,
Super Contra, and
not his
expressionist day-gown.
For Putamayo, the human-rights
group groped uniques styles
in a timeless pit. Handbook for
negotiating privacy. Burberry
to enter or inter
the body of Christians,
Rogaine of Minoxidil, dildo
of False Member.
I put the Prada in the Gucci,
the dada in Susan Lucci,
the few, the proud in Fallujah.
From Lawrence Giffin’s Get the Fuck Back Into That Burning Plane. Available from An Ugly Duckling Presse.