patricia highsmith's mr. ripley, talented
and a little cold for the liking, tad bit sadistic
ally to the decadent way of thinking, saw the
game and the original, then thought of the killer
slug, sliming along the blanched grass, it was
the moment of recuperation of art and nature,
a difficult mixture, a cocktail, a mindmade
elixir of imagery, the murderous mollusk and the
matt damon figured into one thought in early august,
executed while nothing happened, put my foot and
mouth in it, the silly season of rhetorical flourishes,
floral openings for the new generation of intoxicated
paris hilton mosquitoes to bite and bite, sounds like
we have nothing better to do than write, and write
against the garden of celebrity and fame.
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