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The extreme inanity by which subjectivity

Do you admire me in

my bathtub of lime?

Do you see the odds

written against the

clear conscience of no

odds, rain nevercoming?

A dog disposes its

sleeping bag with

hysterical ashtrays

You will be mayor

yuppies can or cant

cop-out, but splendid

in the ruthless steel

brides were feverish

snobs, presentational

Wall Street cupidities,

meaningless as socialas money-fog.

Wood actors

hog down on a

pilings shaving,

embarking on

the caterpillars

Listen, Ill tell you what you want to know in the pines.

In the frozen, president-ejaculating marshland: home.

We have our lore, and lured into the lair of love-talk,

the cooing pigeons based their stool-eyed dope on cash.

The rest of the statue was missingfour-toed, funnily.

Consciousness will be what others who dont existhave said it always was, a prairie gambit in the devilish

month of Mayberry, chocolate gondolas, lissome belts.

I was never elected. My spleen blew a wad of tearful hello.

Meaning? Meaning the sweet scar I rode on, chariot-like,

deprived of function, derivative as all hell, sparkled aloft.

And that, cousinly, meant die together or live apart. I parted.

Now, I never know how much this new weather agrees.

It steels, sees, lets be let be. It reduces to unionism on a lingual level.Heres another racist joke: most of us could believe

but not know the welfare of the rich if it depended on

the face, stamp-collection, storm-cloud vane, wire hatch.

I would rely on a few things in the movable panic room.This is one of them. Your eyes tear open the winds wound.

The sharpness has a trick better suited than the nightly news.

It wears a spry, tweed terror, complete with cream silk blouse;

leather wing-tips take my breath away dashing presentiment.

In my period, a myriad of dull returns doubles as signature.

I have eight months to get into the best shape of my life.

All this sub-par orangutan speech pathology includes you.

Toward the merry month of nowhere, a kilting jibe wends.

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Not so long ago it used to be known as your piecemeal hush.

Forget the fictive and correlative childhood that time

hampers.

moldings for the rear auspices, those whatsoever pleasures

trolling in the casual means of dragging bags, stop hefts,

etc.

Social Medias neuro-electricity sizzles in close upa metronomic cosmos replete with jargon ideologies,

TV nights with wholesomeless passion, soda-deep life-giving.

I want to go into that towns boudoir, and hear what manipulative

committee will don my thumb, disrupt the elixirs psychiatric

smoothness, its pebble-pleated synagogue. Smoke engines all.

prospecting. The honor of gray fabulous accidents

makes for streaming breath, in a hunky-dory classroom.

The smell of fiver pervades; a bum stops sobbing.

Eliminated from the grand arsenal, perhaps, truck

down the negative activism of this inalienable malediction.

Petting the dog, bridging subsidies, stroking a face.

posters of Fiji, and such instruments transparentlyrepeat their odious secrecy, fumbling impressionisms

loose change settling in the bottom of an orange well

until only the seaweed wedding interior to a mind

becomes its feeling sofa, rectilinear, opalescent,

transmuted so that we have another reason to start

an entirely new conversation in wind-blown chimes

on the porch of a meticulous sunning house, borne

out by the day to this very smattering, obliquely,

if one should notice that there good reason trapping

the eared watches, spangled hatches, dictation

no, none of these arguments rebuild her faith.

Rather, we stay aware in an unincorporated community,perceived is refulgent, like Buford Trading Post

I was never elected. My spleen blew a wad of tearful hello.

Meaning? Meaning the sweet scar I rode on, chariot-like,

deprived of function, derivative as all hell, sparkled aloft.

And that, cousinly, meant die together or live apart. I parted.

Now, I never know how much this new weather agrees.

It steels, sees, lets be let be. It reduces to unionism on a lingual level.

Heres another racist joke: most of us could believebut not know the welfare of the rich if it depended on

I was never elected. My spleen blew a wad of tearful hello.

Meaning? Meaning the sweet scar I rode on, chariot-like,

deprived of function, derivative as all hell, sparkled aloft.And that, cousinly, meant die together or live apart. I parted.

Now, I never know how much this new weather agrees.

It steels, sees, lets be let be. It reduces to unionism on a lingual level.

Heres another racist joke: most of us could believe

but not know the welfare of the rich if it depended on

the face, stamp-collection, storm-cloud vane, wire hatch.

I would rely on a few things in the movable panic room.

This is one of them. Your eyes tear open the winds wound.

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