hymn to an Undetermined Lover by Amanda Powell

singing psalms to an Unrequited love, she lay out at her private beach dreaming of farcical personae above. He appeared slowly, standing beside her, a friend, Freud and Sigmund, spit their game knowing that was all it took but here in L.A. She turned away from her book, Perplexed not yet understanding as he did that to Be twas all it took. Her book lay discarded, as she slowly awoke realizing her Henry Miller had, at long last, Grazing her thigh in that Jacuzzi nook. Near rhymes went out the window, as she scrambled, sprinted from see to D, Her breath no longer short and sparse [non hatha] yoga now seemed possible, while life (white lies) appeared less of a farce for ellipses and elixirs she sought

they suddenly Start! he Burroughs his beat into Ja Hollow, now don t add cheese to the mix or else you ll OD on end, vino veritas, all alone on Hallowed Boulevard. Keen and Abel, they stood: boyish, anonymous, and mildly perplexed? Thriving off one and dones, and their pumped-up kids, better Run, capital D.C., sprint down to the aqueduct, a makeshift but, but she- hated their City, so small that, Walking was her preferred mode of going, being, seeing, transportation, transmogrification, but not never Hear ye! Too obvi that she hated auto, Correct what I was saying and Back to TBD, with ease. Damn him! Supercilious, and stitious, and yet

determined, a raw essence smelt upon her Self, a Rhetorician, three times the usual dosage, and A magicianIn order together, Shiva was wreckin it s/he Is too true, I reckon it, blissfully blank, come on my- back? don t cry baby. This was not the time nor type to learn, nor to discern that the Spaniards amble, siesta and

Stroll. And if you haven t, check out the brook beneath the tiny reggae bar, why by the river! Sea side Anne s attic says hey to the old, dredded out dreaded Rastafarians Punctuated friends of mine reconcile Barcelona and the id, los angeles will still, not comprehend but instead apprehend; For here, alone at the end stands you, oh reader! And the auteurs then fucked, way down, past P.C.H. and still, Sigmund continued to ask her, which of the two, should be {re} deemed smarter?