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Rubber Tomahawks

by: Daniel Hedges

Whilst the literary control mongers ‘alouette’ to hopeful derivatives of ‘art freedom’, we’ve Xeroxed a certain field-guide aesthetic, and defend it now with our rubber tomahawks. We proceed angle-find America to a new ritual of orange, while the neo-cliché hipsters triangulate the set-list at will, one last time.

Then, in some strange spontaneous rapture, the Resplendent Quetzal casts all doubts aside, while field-guide aesthetics burns its visages through the haunting tense, sacrosanct forever.