FOAM

FOAM

"It was Andy Warhol who did not say: 'Everyone will have 15 minutes of foam.' "

Foam: it's a word like a soft summation of an era. In that time
human-kind grew foamy. Men and woman then sort of bubble boiled
in the liquid that had leaked out of them, a fluid of time-weakened wills,
and they were foamy of feeling and bother, foaming in their minds. As
full of froth as a roast gossip. as if blown by the currents into foam, soap
of their wash-up, suds of their watery fall. The sud-loops of their music
made foam in the air. The bubbles of their cartoons grew to be slogans
erasing with foam all manifesto or pattern that made the plumb-house.
People were mad with foaming melodramas of imagined politics, they
frothed at the mouth with words of artificial outrage, mooning the foam
of false words in artificial anger. A foaming world went mad of foam.

People dined on foam. The crowd themselves became a sort of foam.
Anxious as bubbles, amoeba-split in heart & mind as hubbubs of foam
after the breaking waves of their decades. Foam was them and foam
became them. The protests were placarded in foam. Sex boostered out
a thing of foam. People foamed up with sex, imploded like filmy bubbles.
People dyed-up, lint-minded of dirty laundry, foaming in cyphers of wash.
Letters turned to foam. Intelligence puffed up and blew like clouds. Light
bulbs glowed with steam. Telephones rang like a sea of foam, gaseous
spheres of mooning. The world bubbled to froth and blew with fickle orbs.
Off-white foam like polymer boxes their food came in, in their foam cups.
Foaming like a content of their cups, a shake froth, their melt-heart's
leftovers, their dissolved head's content, their diluted soul's essence,

foam.


27 July 2014