Strangle me in thee ballistic aire of boston electric gagosian of invalidating fences employed to describe whatever you desire preprogrammed plague innocuous hebrew pockets distributed as though sewn into the bottom of the ocean by whom unhinged shocking applier of starts and brakes over intelligence or proximity america decides everyone was used to the name en plein aire so you see this house of email abuse so you bought a pound of nü modernismo but received a decorative set of abbreviations yes my father owns the gallery yes his father owns the studio storm clouds gather overhead tho not for us lol.
the tide dropped out while still enrolled puta in the sun scared moon certainly not the heroes darkly begging at the shore’s feet taking advantage the only thing at which they’ve excelled no other way to get it done their shoulder / your shoulder their back / your back the chorus unable to prove anything anymore distracted by distraction comparing work to worry reaction to action syrup to syntax the anti-war movement of the ’60s and ’70s sabotaged the culture their heroes heathens lords of dew acknowledge the abusive sutra turned themselves out there’s hero shit in the street and no one picks it up which is to say everyone refuses to pick it up who precisely is this no one and are you looking for agency representation?
as predicted in a future poem his aesthetic stands itchy in hotlights at the sink washing dishes while thinking up elden ring memes for twitter clout
this is a modern poem that does nothing his hands of caged meat slimes up past his elbows as he lemons this trademarked postmarked marky marked one and only love sucked
into low orbit observation send it said eddie said she hopes the doctor got his dosage right this time this is is real now
despite our collective mfa the mouse squeaks the house sneaks the chinese porcelain every druggie wanna-be and dead-alike speaks at length about cockroaches scampering tightly under skullskin it just so happens that every sortie of weed manufactured across the southern territories since at least the end of the second world war has been poached without the consent of hives worldwide there’s always a paranoid car story he read it
he’s not doing anyone a favor these dishes crack themselves on concrete and file away tortoises tying
uh oh what’s in his hand against character your advertisement of very uncool touching
father on blasted beach the sun has no imagination his parents chose to orphan him is that mean is that the point bed bath and beyond hacked his sorry ass hello william gibson the holy spirit a samurai rides the gyrus orphaned by its slight description
yeah that’s saying it plain the first great passage of the twenty second century opens up this his first novel about the black wall they know they’re on tv too hard to get up this hill without it
the dog sniffs the plastic takeout bag the cockroach pushes around particular brain ridges conspiratorial things let him call the shot is too beautiful to have been composed its eyeline blasts his sacral aqueduct
splash damage vibrant with all that yellow racing thru his gut but vibrant but vibrant with sesame seeds pecked into the ceiling on their way to god chandler bing is a name he just thought of suddenly for no reason your image of god continues to anger the church bell edible and deserves to see the phantom menace in theaters and cut his oh man those three were dead before the sardine hit the ground they were all fucking with him clean out the world for virtue and lovethe lemon said
they were bugs and teeth scattered like water run dry too much coffee for this to be his first time in the afterlife he didn’t write he got them sons of warriors that hiss that service he looked away
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
“My word / Hand caught in the door / Stuck tight old boy stuck tight”
‘Safety Lock’ by Louis Aragon
My word Hand caught in the door Stuck tight old boy stuck tight In other words Or The password please Many thanks Now I hold the key The bolt begins to twist like a tongue Therefore
Trans. Michael Benedikt
Source: Aragon, Louis. “Safety Lock.”The Poetry of Surrealism, edited by Michael Benedikt. Boston: Little, Brown and Co, 1974, p. 151.
Photo: Gerace, Joe. “Stuck Tight Old Boy Stuck Tight” Nov. 14, 2020. JPG.
to all decurved contract workers both boy and girl please note we offer a paltry 401(k) cancer herpes kind-hearted flechette america the corporation complain the complaint liable to get nations flayed guilty imagination unspoiling brood parasite munitions nesting in an oval in a pit lazy dog iron heart suddenly unleashed starving detonating undetonating detonating ad nauseam decorated celebrated soft fleshy middle managers break’s over! tumbling from a cloud
in his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses he can’t smell her boots expensive watches arrange purple chrysanthemums in the dark it’s nobody’s job
in time antoni sneaks off around lungs monteverde vecchio even when he’s locked away the value of a dollar
even when he locked away the dark it’s nobody’s job
see his
girlfriend arranging purple
chrysanthemums
it’s nobody’s job to arrange these boots and expensive watches purple chrysanthemums
the time sneaks off in his long black hair he is dead
sergio buys handmade leaf smoke voiding his boys
he presumes he can’t smell her roses in the dark it’s nobody’s job to see his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses so he presumes he can’t smell her beauty even when he’s locked in the dark it’s nobody’s job
