-
Not Today I could create you
-
i walk past the brick of buildings, i walk the past
-
Scraping the last of gut off it all
The seasons are beautiful still.
-
They don know madness
And the sadness sings all holy human excrement when replicas of verses of goodnurnished children mutter
-
It all swells in my stomach like fat amerikan apple
The waiting
-
Remembrance to the markings and crumbs;
We dine on colorless spaghetti,
-
new aged boy you swallow the space below you as you sit beside the
shaved headed girl rapping new aged rap,
-
We have forgotten the drought false-sadness brings
We salivate angels&glass elephants
-
The trees
Are fallen mirrors
-
Beyond the howls of a thousand highways beyond the sarcasm of yearning for the fictional aliens to be found in the moist of humanity
Becomes a lift to feet, and to the sorrow caving toward the wheels of trucks that spiral
-
I’m trying to understand poetry.
I know why I like this song, the voice heavy and damp and british. The piano falling out of windows.
-
the loneliness found in the orchestra of oily cities.
bible bound finger tips rid touch from portraits in inexpensive living rooms,
-
kind scents go straight to the whorehouses in Mexico
visionaries straight to the veil of pubic bones,
-
i pissed behind the dumpster, behind McDonald's
found potential in the yellow of highways
-
sweat and carpets beneath the horrid openings of a Saturday morning
boy, i think you got some sun in that hair
-
The diet coke floats in potential vomit, in the sink,
with rum surfacing the Floridian pools found in my heart
-
girls forget to stick napalm up their skirts
And boys jerk off to the concepts of time&death
-
Slick little boys paint pink to pairs of cheekbones;
Coming out of catholic churches and grease.
-
the rolls on my stomach are well-defined by car seat fabric
nipples huge as usual.
-
mentionings of April in San Fransisco
appear stolen and Freudian
-
the colors found in nature are intimately humorless and sexual
these bedtime novels are tremendously cheap
-
if your teeth had no smile
lips would be as glass umbrellas
-
in a bookstore in Tokyo the woman with
sweet scented earwax said
-
-
when computers find emotion
america turns hollow
-
“would you seem to be saintly if you saved me this seat?”
said the bearded boy in pink English that hung like rope on modern trees.
-
wine split beneath thrifty footwear
and the galactic connection found only between
-
a Heart from a shoebox sun sets—
the dance of intestines, like American fireworks, recollect—
-
Light permits the sudden shades of blindness
Our forged love-illed declarations, misled
-
not into this poem but my creative writing teacher loves it
-
my mother stores her chardonnay beneath milk
i found violets in glass just the other day
-
the anorexia of clouds
on a postcard sunset, shifting
-
like a fall or maybe a rise of decision
i’ll manage to scrape the cinder off seasons
-
you’re a cigarette in bad weather
you are that shadow upon breasts and thighs
-
moon tragedies ooze around&thru
Marc Bolan soft of howls linger in fatassed air
|