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.
For Rocco
Acid bark of petroleum too waste imagine never overhanging the city snake colossal hiss kisses armed icon retching sky too on feasting dawn i at the heart regret ever in this sour game the chaplain’s ten point star strewn too scenes too entertain too stretch too reflex too glacier too gamble too gone tossed too faithful.
Abnegate sunrise slaughters endless new grief fear finally finally self reclaimed from the scree come back and synchronize it is a new day inside a new day inside.
Which was tantamount to actuation which was overwhelmed by the weight of the black wall’s shadow which was an aged yellow tag on a cheap bag of pencil mustaches which was ellen burstyn and john mcaffee sweetly singing into still black coffee in the early nineties which was unable to stop laughing which was beauty which was age which was never to be sound engineered which was five hundred glossy promo shots for the knives to work up which was both of which were found at critical mass which was eschewing the holidays for speaking archaic about national subjects which frankly bj leiderman composed our theme within one hundred cherry red yards which was permanently what they asked me to tell the coroner the psychologist the commissioner which was as if john waters fronted suicidal tendencies.
Grenzsituation genuflection the crisis in berlin looks cool as hell get ahead of yourself these are my conditions a density of stimuli providing vehicles through time astounds the professor though people come and grow in a room full of michaelangelos as the tail begins its lion’s taming steps in on or what if it’s just the lyrics to staying alive right down the middle cleaved and all you’d have to worry about is disgruntled voice actors dear ovid and the jews will you please identify streaking grey across the hunter’s chest i picked up my phone to google vatic and five years had passed straw man torrents curious so i ate a klaxon paucity of gilt her treachery was too easy o reflecting goblet parabolic defibrillator of self blind in meteors swarming the storm of cosmic traffic no thundercat holding the bag deep in the hole of nemik’s manifesto of the late late spoils.
My other remix oh holy tessera to proclivities in decline like ever fluttering hearts who demand favors of long elbowed sanctuary as if anything were permanent but presumptuous dances and idiots who have plucked vertical suspenders from the eerie sandstorm suspending something echoing riots around ten oh seven pee em swims the first three epochs into perfect capsules of now parietal unscrewing suddenly the feeling mutual mutual suddenly unscrews feeling into perfection episodes swim ten echo something sandstorms each rubbing a timid bank of idiots dancing permanently on the scorched elbows of the tenements who heart ever fluttering proclivities do lean into adventures oh mix and oh my.
Advent child of mistakes the author my god conceives the reader she has her best interest in mind all permitted lies within reason of death unable to contrive an illusion but its illusory possibility delivers actual fear actual grief the iridium broker is both worthy but supplementary and plaintive or brief and silly trying to convey a message of serious compromise blow out my doors this uneconomy of worth no magic without within one two three one two three and hidden underneath its perfect hand with the thumb curled up perfect sunrise at four forty five collier schorr no magic means i dare you on a cheap chinese stand and know before knowing your bony determinism even if benevolent obscures the playful uneconomy precisely wrong my god these ghosts what hands long braided thumbs the irony of confidence in cursed cures encircling the town like a wagon of rumors bodiless at the stake pay attention that was four forty five this is nine thirty two you’ve discovered again that in no time a twist of long healed flesh drips from what so why is better than how its superior returns knocking my god around like backyard bombs you have to see it all at once attempting the inevitable bundling glue me to the mona lisa daddy i am begging for your wet hot fidelity.
i don’t want to hate read
your big bang which is to
say i desire to sniff your
every sip of coke carry you
closer to the end of beer
of coffee of water i am
formally interesting of but bereft baked
into obsolescence the right hand no
poems about rain when i drive
the scents enter and exit like
coffee shop customers once a virgin
always a virgin no leatherback sea
turtle devouring a jellyfish have a
strange obsession strangely unobsessed i was
a bad translator and a hell
of a stylist trapped in colin
powell’s test tube not being dramatic
when i say the light dims
vibrating elements start a tv network
arch of river-wet stones above creek
in vermont if you don’t know
the noun its sentence is alien
and uber modernity says don’t slow
america morphs individual identity to bludgeon
america grafts vision to formula warmachine
america was nowhere america had nowhere
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
see now don’t you? the the languages, dialects,
pidgens and stop drinking orders. i’ve stories. piles of love
in northern new jersey. anna, here’s nothing.
this government of language. i am the languages, dialects, pidgens stop drinking.
i’ve stopped drinking. i’ve stopped drinking. i’ve stories. piles of them in northern new jersey. anna, here’s nothings i’ll never sort. somehow i have to wake me up. stop drinking. the thing. this language. i am on fire.
same; languages, dialects, pidgens. stop drinking this language. i am the same; language. i just need one go again: no randomly scattered across thousands and ideograms. i am.
the language. i pray, sure, but to love my perception allows. short hand my perception allows. the shores of northern new jersey. anna, here’s a good car crash to find weird little answers hidden under the thing. i’ve stopped drinking. the thing left of books and ideograms.
i just need one to go again: no randomly. just need one good car crash to wake me up. have you stopped drinking? the thing left of lawns
allows. short of new jersey, anna,
here’s nothing i’ll never sort. somehow i have to find
love interminable things left
of mind a bit of lawns in all things can’t love allow
new jersey. anna, here we are at the car crash scrounging about for a bit of language, dialect, pidgens and
ideograms. i am the languages, dialects, pidgens and stop. i’ve stopped drinking. there was a good car crash found in love in northern new jersey. anna, here we go car crashing to wake me up. crash to wake me up. pray, sure,
but find weird little answers hidden under
the things
i’ll never sort, somehow.
i have to wake me up. of vain stories. piles of
lawns in northern new jersey. anna, go crash cars to love.
anna, here we go crashing into a bit of the language, dialects, pidgens and ideograms. i just need one go again: no randomly scattered across thousands of lawns.
it allows. new jersey, anna, here we go again finding there’s nothing to love in northern new jersey. anna, here’s all the nothings i can’t love in northern new jersey. anna, here we go again: nothing randomly scattered across thousands of books and ideograms.
i am the same: language.
i pray, sure, but find weird little answers
hidden under brittle
languages, dialects, ditches.