later simon petra denotes a proper name as reflection of a noble patriarch or that of a connotation of new testament meaning precise stone or red aramaic crag dispute the time in rock or by translation stone to petrus as
usual means stone to peter
petrus particularly in
acting class rock is called and the
syrian actors performance
shaved from the new testament or
crag others save their athletic
grief bringing combined names to a
male child along a greek jewel
but most scholars argue meaning was simon of a fish act like an unusual meaning for stone theologian argue the addition has been explained by its name of well-known customs jews at the rock disputed in the attic it was a male child
the new testament and a brushed- upon stone the old usual meaning denotes grown from red rock bloody act of creeping mire mediaeval visions of peter bubbling things to their doom women who give consent up to the second epistle of creep
and mire then their feet with doom
women who lend money are hung
by punishings to themselves from
their doom women who shoot a flash
of all the acts of barlaam made
to bottom the revelation
up to the writer of thomas
and bottom of revelation
driven up a great cliff by pure conjecture with their filthy feet with certainty in wretched hair josaphat drinks a lake of them hung by punishing mire the mediaeval visions of barlaam forced up a great cliff by the late epistle of peter
we are delivered to the tongue
yes women lend money and are
hanged by visionary bottoms
that mediaeval vision-
ship in a pit creeping mire
they being women are driven
up through their hysterical doom
women who prescribe adultery
beside the goat cliff of their knees hair-over-tongue women adorn second epistle of fire into bubbling mires of spit spirit revelation vision of torment saint thomas born of gore fabric and poor narration apostles proscribe adultery
cloves to me finish the beginning
not first in air i have a special mixture
my exclusive time requires drips
i've made up my nose: first mind the drips
die then do no such thing required of me
since air is not so casually soaked
in ragged strips of exclusivity
time persuades one of their nothingness
nor am i briefly special of whisper bone
admixture of exclusive strips mine
i require a sort of flayed time
special time burrowed in special thought
slowly and continuously introduced
die then no such thought will be
thought in the air which afaik isn't true
i am all these pine-soar things
but what of rosewater soaked linen
i've had such wonderful lovers
in the beginning though not at first
beginnings slowly and continuously rise
and pinecone through the lawn
studded with drippings wrapped in earth
what a glorious exclusive time in strip
mines exclusive time dripping among air
however briefly but trimmed
into reddening strips
clouds and the white stream brain snow has-been tomatoes in the eyes adrift on a mach of arms toward the bodhisattva at dawn on the depth of everesting clouds
and the gloom the dark seaweed insects fly away in the washes partition the twilight comes toward the blue radiant moonsteel pen armed bird glittered clouds and curls its back mirroring hemp like cracks veining the smell of the smell
a lily’s fragrance partitions the gloomy sky white stream mind snow fallen phosphore washes partition the sky in the sky above the blue sky and the pistils of yesterday
stand curls its its its lips red rag of night comes forward the sky and the smell of my riverbed branch sky above the smell of a lily in the depth of birdglitter quarrel with some living doubt bloodshot depths of pistils
green tomatoes in the gloomy white lily its its its its lips red feathering my white seaweed insects fly away in the smell of my white stream ming-weed insects fly away in purple led sky bloomy white
stream mind snow has fallen phosphorescent partition the blue radiant moonsteel pen the pen arms a heart’s content
left alone and roaming with life in surround in the pistils of green covered clouds and curls its its its back
mirroring weed insects fly away the sky has been blue rays of depth yesterday the strand the seashore water’s dead bodies
and numerous teen tomatoes in the depth of a lily bloomy white stream float away in my eyes and drift with someone of membranes of wasteland-curls
its long headed body grits limp lips red rag of a lily’s fragrance ripples rippling rippled with someone in the sky above their long arms a queer bird glitters quarrel with life surround the long arms of the heart’s content
stream mind snow bitter beetle feathers weeding in the sky and curls its bodhisattva head at the last membraneous rays of sunlight white stream
mind of snow fallen against the young phosphorescence the falling sky above the blue sky above the body its joints crack like veins
like long arms of a bird glitter-quarrel with father again light moon in the pistils of a lily’s fragrance in the twilightning on a marching fog
what’s even worth painting anymore? all the nerd girls in big striped sweaters warming bleach moms gym guys in slate sleeveless tees and they make shoes out of knit polyester now tight pants loose pants clouds bodies minds bricks piled up high hair gel on a young couple four hundred feet away i’m worried about their screen time is their crib flammable age sex location trap beats the problem with not liking anyone is you always have lots of company imagine for a moment being a sixteen ounce poland spring bottle the thin crinkling plastic threaded neck choking hazard threaded cap arctic-nothing impermanent black they don’t do decaf here i listen to the gods who do not have my best interest at heart is it ok for me to smile at the incandescent young lesbians so in love i’m repeating myself my recycled edges ache at the thought of appearing a fanboy Eileen Myles in my hands my eyes my neurons my hair dirty teeth rotten and unbrushed like i said: no one’s looking out for my brief colors i strain to love anyone but i fear a relapse into hate for everyone hocking trace antagonism — like me i’m afraid i prefer living in the cracks and this world powerwashes squatters rats milkweed moneywort morning glory like us — there i go dreaming again self-flagellating my verse-thin flesh which is bulletproof if bullets are tsetse flies i am genetic i am bodied and disposable if extant — there is a cloud there is the gelic memory of sun leather loafer real burning cigarette appropriately scented altar i don’t care what your mother named you i will love you anyway without me.
Il mio corpo sta facendo cose che non ho chiesto al mio corpo di fare. I am a simple man — gosh — and I have received the impression your poem isn’t about the Terrible President. You’re trying to tell us something sage we can’t hear simply. Stop with the gosh. Pick up a beer bottle slake of gasoline. There are many ways to say Mary. Here is my password: Say rogue. Say scoundrel. I am dying. Pethaíno. Douse. Sto morendo. Match. My body does things I don’t ask it to do. My ears bleed pixels of chlorine of ferric oxide of pine. The kitchen light never comes on, Mary, you know what I mean? There are the ants. They migrate from the dry sandy soil into my possessed things. Things I kill for. Things I inherit. La barca si schianta attraverso la diga. Mio la barca si schianta contro una ventola. I know what you’re thinking: You’re wrong and you’re wonderful. North star of burning hotel. Star burning.
in love with the marauder
heracles slept in his crate
hera summoned snakes
the snakes moved without reason
heracles strangled the snakes
one by one by one
secretive unions any reason to open new paths for the collared movement of reason open new paths for collaboration open new paths for blacktop and feels great great the collar he loves lifting lifting and curtail secretive right to the course of America
pressure the tepid frog in the middle a little dirt road for employers a little dirt road for workers
reason opens new paths focused on boycotts no my throat hops into the industry which thrives thrives on its accumulation of memory
understand ennobling forsaken;
struck down, despair; perplexed, in all.
you angels chase wilderness of blood
the rest hard-press to understand thee.
earnest of blood inters irrelevance.
i bet you can see everything you search for
the wall the well the lakes of bit blood the low aftness
crushed; perplexed, in all.
you’re not the death mirrors the holocaust, naked child running from work unexpected understanding, the truth you are the death mirrors singing and ennobling you can see everything the hard-pressed red herring.
a bit of instant low afternoon sun hides behind a pig farmer with sophisticated emotional truth now the watermelon sun hides behind a pig farmer naked running from blood fixative the wall the low afternoon crushed; perplexed.
inaudacious despair; perplexed, is all.
you search for the low afternoon sun hiding behind a pig farmer
with sophisticated understated military threat of it—both ways—the wall
melts into a blanket of dead fish.
the hardness crushed; perplexed in despair; perplexed, in front of a red house beautiful the hard-press truth of god wildernet—the next good the next good the hardness crushed, perplexed, in all.
you rarely find a pig farmer with this level of sophistication
today in pictures of literary devices it was not deep necessarily
the hardness of it was death which is ennobling for some
the poplar tree.
god, hard-pressed hung on the wall with a bit of blood, they got threatened
the second they stepped foot on our tarmac it was a literary
development alongside the confident wall the hardness of it all.
you angels chase wilderness: the perfect poplar tree, tallest god, the true holocaust, the most nude pig farmer running from fields of labor, the men too deep on too much information, the movies ennobling el partido de la porra prove you search for the dead on purifying force el partido you need too many angels