Hears rudy boray statistic over the buzzy bee loves those within earshot encourages the dog to snip forever swing the hammer steal your melancholic library refuse manipulation be manipulated blacken the iron gates speaking at universities and private corporate events jam four little trees black ice air fresheners into the maxima’s ac vents the dog campaigns with distressed exposition perfect blocking and michael bay explosions admitting each other into the hall of greatness pisses on the y button sprays flat crystals across the front row and loses essence the sad pathetic mystery of life that’s what’s so great about it so much is failure as they say all telescope no planets as they say generous images jump from the first floor window hold their breath disembowel narrative intent with living happily ever after eat my marshmallow now or later neither of us will cough again eats ashtrays to reimburse the moon eats ashtrays.
Jef les deux magots tells me rich fought james here no noise no one wanted here a scaly oak into the icy glare of sunset on eagle’s wing versus don’t play hogwarts legacy there’s a mod for that a haiku of drag down racing streets seven foot wide with a tedious grin similar to the passing train window’s laggy saggy salvage.
listen, monster, i’m here to remind you the ruby drunk caught in your throat demands a buck fifty for the downtown 1 white shoe slip-resistant rubber sole the plan
this Philosophy smells of studded club soda dark liquor hidden deep in books template matching over styx russian sub ice cream necropolis kicks filthy nooks
oh no i hope it’s not true i’m attached to the colors posing at piss station so unsophisticated my tenses fall to the floor i’ve missed my choo choo
you don’t deserve a narrative monster all you get: a spare admission of form
like a dog like a man who can’t decide whether to use the pronoun him or it dog who’s spoiled interior design three heads one asshole no one to love it
michel foucault would have been an iphone man bald bitmoji man he would have sucked off zuck in the castro like a real man unable to look anywhere but in
retrospect is fabulism is a surrealist koan yodeled from buckling knees in a space station manned by paranoid belted purple unfathomable beasts
ignorant to our own intricate dance i am not a love song i‘m a baked yam
“Women have all kinds of practice imagining themselves as men and men have very little practice imagining themselves as women.” Meryl Streep
himself to less difficult words the male is giving himself to improve readability the male is giving himself to passive voice the male is giving himself to passive sentence length the male is giving himself to good results the sentence length the male is giving himself to that which is not enough the test the male is giving himself to sentences the text the sentences the male is giving himself to sentences the male is giving himself to transition the male is giving himself to active voice the male is giving himself to that which is giving himself to two instances the male is giving himself to two instances the male is giving himself to less difficult worlds the male is giving himself to the male is giving himself to transition words and sentences
the male is distributing words the male is giving himself to consecutive sentences to sentence length the male is giving himself to your text the male is giving himself to transition words the male is giving himself to two instances the male is giving himself to sentences the male is giving himself to less difficult worlds the male is giving himself to passive sentence length the male is giving easy text the male is giving himself to passive voice the male is giving himself to sentences the male is giving himself to sentences the male is not methuselah’s father the male is giving himself to that which is giving himself to transitions the male is giving himself to that which is giving himself to only 3.4 percent of the sentence length the male is giving himself to mix things up the test the male is giving himself to active sentences
m is giving himself to transition worlds the sentence length the male is giving himself to consecutive sentences the flesch readability the sentence length the male is giving himself to passive sentences the male is giving himself to improve readability flesch readability the sentences the male is giving himself to the same worlds over and over again the male is giving himself to good truths the test the male is giving himself to transitions the male is giving himself to two instances the male is giving himself to active voice the male is giving himself to mix things up the male is giving himself to tradition the male is not enough the male is giving himself to sentences where three or more consecutive sentences the male is giving himself to less difficult worlds over and over again the male is giving himself to improv
shows how twice although they both turned men took and rembrandt painted the 1970s made sense (or not) of the art-historical or cultural upheavals of sexual violence against women nancy princenthal dramatic perhaps but with replete with replete with replete without physical princentury the political or psychological and coercion in artists have made for a male art-historical or psychological princenthal writes pointing to convey it was inherently renderstood no era or culture has been a convey it in life abuse an extremis a new book an experience an abuse
collatinus
his fantasies an early 70s in seedbed performances himselves invading their bodies to tie their bodies him as he masturbated an elegant account perform even if some critics didn’t buy it or not quite their bodies to tie the obvious history and weaves in intimate relation and aggress sexual violence in prince in seedbed percepts to an empts like chris burden account performances himselves the first agnes martists were often account performance articulator describe more candy near a prize broad jump 71 offer the obvious of his best
hardman
she convicts that no image could become his sexual advance she could subject was as if the could became his sexual advances she conviction that no image conviction that no image could subject it was as if the slaves offered her door she awakened he identified her two choices she could become his sexual advances she could submit to his conviction that no image conviction that no image could repress perhaps inadvertently going adulterous sexual advances she could become his sexual advances she could submit to the could subject it was as if he submits to the body
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
the sweetness drops by measured thematics or they disintegrate into detectives occupying extraordinary ottoman rudders brakes steered by nero’s america new roads car themselves before counterclockwise america is pushing clockwise collapsing fireworks of america some theory control chaos then the big boat gulbahar gulshah heat of bankrupt mercurial perturbations sitti cicek ur insane twin throttle economic helene emperiod turned human order turning away anna and alexias situations to put it mildly dog fighting imitative nectars
consider what they saw there
i don't trust anyone who
doesn't have my best leg
in interest both calves
slaughtered on the hill
neither had a camera
i hear their voices
like high school girls
squeaking on algebra
at tjmaxx i drink
coyote blood click click
each pore inflamed
for oxygen each pore
diabetic tigers of america
neither has a camera
chose to break the treaty
when gold was discovered
there there they do
not know the way
they saw what they saw
