[a way to say my bad]
Hark! Some messed up clarity brings
Me to think of my being and be overwhelmed. Enough a
Surprise, to think I haven’t yet been blown away with wind nor strangled by a smoke:
Well. Perhaps, there is substance in’t. Enough to grossly populate these aggravated
Trees, o being ?? while upon lusty waters, in my cherished, throttling wake, usual wake,
Makes the recession into something completely different full and
Hopeful, each leaf a welcome crisis, or beckoning me to feel back to the
Source of my conniving soul by the same rolling tolls of words
Experts of culture’d remind me of as braincurd, local
Rehabilitations unsuggested but primed for usage, lefty and righty thick
As thieves in the sockets. My, haven’t lighted the way these enough? To vibrate
A collecting of of routed spots of feelings: fireside debates, chatty little vipers altogether
Humming a streettune the likes you have never seen ?? Will never ?? Would
A cold stomach, purple with wear like Rimbaud’s gums of the bear
Mightily create cramps of reality before fixations tell the obscurest reality
A thing at the end of the catacombs, where stalagmite and stalactite
Breed // Myself and his summoning wants a raining day reign
Over this beleaguered picture, outside of the cave, though the search party
Remains resistant and cross, a mob nearly, with scary
Pitchforks bobbing in the air above the clump of people whom
Charmed by acumen, want to see the reality unstacked by proving:
Proving this, that. Old ways are new ways knocked out and
When brought around we ask the place and time
To meet and bridle control for the sake of inviting,
Invigorating anger’s strut of heart. Waylaid awhile the skipped chapters seem less
A misdemeanor, beauty’s strut // Couldn’t get a hold on the ripped waves
Chance seems to take into cheers in mine own head. The
Feeling of regret, eking shivering through the long time spent under the darned
Subject, we, that is, You and I, drape a folded world over crisis, deny
Until the last unnameable regret lampoons itself and change
Reprimands the clock with little words to the flock. So We
Decide to make entrance into the cave. The
Stake, high, gets higher; action upon the grunted dial of shoulder
Fronts shoulder, leg pairs twixt leg and mounting breath clutters like bats disturbed,
Which they are. Once dripped all of Us shadows into forms we could own and form and which / Are malleable demonstrate a lack of understanding this intimate crisis a long Was into Is
And drip seeking the uncovered mantle denigrate Us. Like once a scion drew
Being to geography, soul to where we are at the moment,
Love to antipathy, or worse, so did light groove like some goofy magnet
Terrified, until the diameter almighty grovels itself specks like as ants. It all
Turns into ecclesiastic dronings before
Meaning’s house, before the alter of meaning. Simply as if in a box my
Guests decide to go in the cave, reaping twilight gets thereon all heads
And so are these wolfish attackers lead themselves into darker spleenspaces
In the hollow there, that cavern stunning all into obedience like a shepherd.
Into it. Suddenly the horde gets clueless about why they there. All I said was,
If y’all came, there’d be some nice cakes and funny hats. Call security !!
My brain details as massive a reason for the turning of cogs as the cogs
Themselves and accepts the objectness of my own slippy turnaround
Of a thing neatly genetic, flowing form into grace sans the aftercontent
An old man somewhere with issues writing to a little girl far away could
Use if aware and a part of the knocking interest at the sudden door
For a week as feed for his Chameleon, named Joseph. An entirely different spastic
Tribe’s looping shouts mourn across lands and seas conscious of themselves,
Immortal vistas, rounding judgmentally on the player and asking him to quit it.
His move, but the move would be moral and has to be, not a thing growing
‘Neath swampy intestinal fragrant sourceramblings trimmed out of columned
Thought’s various breaking points, all lethal, all in the end blithe births as hell,
Strutting strumpets through miles of hail’s violence across the very room,
A tribute to the clumsy forms: a regular Verseille of the mind: Us, We, Them,
And whome to bless this nonemess connected moon to very Mars, marred
After right places would be, in the distinct craned neck, in the blind man’s
Infinite stroke upon of lathering corpuscle in the shower: I am cornered: I stress
Various lines, all of a vericose, and thighs old and bloated as fuck of who?:
O dream, o collapse pf // Anger ends relaxing over and across the maniablanket
Of forgiven wasted time but wasted perhaps beautifully: am essence: am true:
Am the schedule of clouds and such upon an empty cramp: from two to two
To three to three interpreted crooked: wordpuzzles in spanish: we finally
Figured out what she was saying and it was said as her hair scrammed in a
Little flick of a bang out the way of her eyes with a blowed breath: it’s cute:
The edge of time back to their bathroom and dorm. Lipstyck triptyche
Altogether raising an eyebrow of culture and calling a love supreme
The right improvisational discourse to not mess with in the right ways,
Maybe, have an argument within what it is exist, like little slices of heaven
And hell. Most have waited me to return from banter into the true reason for this
Piece, to apologize: for I am, still, in a World that forgot literature’s
Rocks and stones, empirical terrain; few know the chart anymore. Where we
Are now because of others. That they would get us there is amazing but they do.
/ / / G-
etting thru to th turnpike, on fire
Some manner of homeless figure clatters
Down towards the brown blooming plumes
Like a magnet. I will talk to you, I will
Sit there and eat a few things,
And obscure weirdness will be a pendulum
Between three speakers on their thought’s thread, and
Finally as honest as a cross, as one says words the
Lift of your mouth spatters shapes like phlegm to crease,
At a joke, ruffled with jerking smiley shit, and hold my diaphragm,
Fuckin hilarious !! We talk to you, both of us, you in you and me
And the devil as moderator : and apoplectic stills the
Scene into a single brown flame, dragging his
Cart of dirty, soiled stuff, before the flame, this
Entire world hideous and grand, broken
.
.
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