new ommy ropes

o,,
omith old ones
u ©an†
maybe means now

rotating in to take a sweat
swat at yor head

gorillas the size of planets
on hooks in the freeze

that's yoour plan
plainly
to organize a front
against the wind?

to Eat the challengers
or maim
to maim and run
them

to orga9s a back against the wave?
is yyoyr plan?
to burn dryly
burning whatwho?

sides top bottom
against the
all against
against the
all again again again again
gallows

theyre all gone

hey hello hell

hay

hellecho

hay-hay

naïveté as weapon

against want hump

chisel a face out of thought

out-thought

children-like clouds

uf durt

who friends are

made of dancing blood

feathers

forever feathero

fatherosenseasickness

father hero eros rose sense seasickness

naturally

or coming out of dixy dust

foe ever in lock

hot got breath

sinus pressir

a slob in ruined knock knick knox

a war of clam chimp

ƒoe weather om 

road colored road

jism blankets

mixed in table cloths for guests

celebrar coxc©

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©onty\rrolll

©ontrol

©ont®ol

©on†®ol

©°n†®ol

press here

for sounds

constipatio furnotues

huxk
Ωyou odd if that was id
a violet wafy, hinging on a weird floatilla
a Ísß favorite sun
in the onion bun
a way over heat
candid repeat

Ç¥korroes, o'klok
¯¿¯ maybe your hat is missing
guns
¨Á¨ˆÁˇ‰‰‰‰
smoley face
i
$›>NYCE
nyce people with eyes that claws

people with claws that eyes don't want
below the surface of the mouth

phone hand yes?
from dream land
did you have to answer?

∆˙ÔÓÒ
hut
hot krongle
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music 4 airports

eight twenty five two thousand fourteen
i am an airplain fifteen hundred hours and forty five minutes across soon i'll be in a city by a gland a "recyclable" stamp on my forehead a pretty fox-animal blowing sweet warm wind up the back of my legs i am a digital sailor i am a lost beast i am a misplaced saint to a towering inferno that is feeding on the guts of a sacred monument whose signs were left by the deceased and never deciphered by a living person a dead tongue i am the palm of a goodbye-waving hand i am the fist of a millionaire clutching a throbbing pencil aching to burst policy onto a document. i am permanent transient blowing away at the behest of almost any mouth concealing a knife or cache of laser pills. it could be said that i am a rubric but more accurately i am the phenomenon of light filtered through diamonds, a pile of small diamonds. the amount of time required to produce a diamond and stereoscopic sensory flow. but 2-dimensional now feels more like, whether it is or not, was/will wow overlay, looks like seeing, like looking with relaxed eyes, not flexed grip at light not heavy but tight like reality is and loose like memory is... loose or insubstantial? full like sensation is, whether was or will, compelling and glisteny made of animals and desserts molded to resemble them. mad at Mars for tarrying in Cancer. mad at the salesman with the alternative pitch and the glad goose you introduced yourself to before boarding the plane. planing the board in shop class
eight twenty six two thousand fourteen sixteen hundred hours and two minutes in one plain are plan or pain in error laps in ire deep grabbing strokes hand-loads of aether, remember?
pull tire why is the cigarette bent? chemical danger in tubes at least get it straight. someone would hide face in the exaggerated flap of a 28' moth only good for exposing the deprived roots of an ornate agreement. and a dog would lead them out to the smell of gangrenous double-talk. cross streets and meaty early handshakes that seem metallic; hands intrusive paws resembling religious weapons, smiles that caw a reverberant caw across an empty urban shaft.
an echo that may be eventuality's mocking sneer bouncing off each tile each tooth like an antique piano under the cold eye of a seasoned archer PING strings pop and it is time to drink again to history, a long draw all the way, windingly, to the bottom of the shadow in the flask.
nakedly, in a glass nest a hard angular set-up for you. a place of worship if people still do that or is the glare of the mind on the back of the eye too blinding? not so much irreverence but lack of time... not so much hurriedness but an imposition of flow... not so much a lack of cool but a distortion
time place and a need for meaning when there is no need for meaning or a substituting of meaning in the place of time. if meaning could slow down or fly when you're having fun, if time could get you through a poetry reading wouldn't we all have finished school a lot sooner?
learning about changing or... being taught how to stay the same... by a corpse with a mouthpiece, a necktie and a stiff paddle. FWAP FWAP FWAP if that isn't motivation then dig a hole in the ocean and stay dry.

an almond is a lot more like a rock than a mouse is

the sun bakes
my turkey black

my friend
in a thick sweater
electric knives
in a locked cabinet
and giblets giblets giblets giblets giblets

z. when i go out
z. drowsy
z. my toes are cold
i. because i am going to die
p. too

when i sit down
in a wooden box
when they pour wine over my head
look at the bumps all over my body

do you think i am healthier for you?
what did your father say?

pieces of an orchid
cut into flexible segments
vibrating in hands.z.hands.z.hands.z.
an orchestra
or a corked corpuscle
a blunderbuss full of blouse buttons

a piglet picking up pitchforks with a pitchfork

a friend

and a rude woman golfer's divots
heavens forbid we've ice in our culottes
on such a warm day
a shrinking nimbus
a shark with an alcoholic brother
doing time for eating
the ring off a decomposing finger
in the sun
everyone was watching

E.E. Cummings

from No Thanks 1935

23
he does not have to feel because he thinks
(the thoughts of others,be it understood)
he does not have to think because he knows
(that anything bad is which you think good)

because he knows,he cannot understand
(why Jones don't pay me what he knows he owes)
because he cannot understand,he drinks
(and he drinks and he drinks and he drinks and)

not bald. (Coughs.) Two pale slippery small eyes

balanced upon one broken babypout
(pretty teeth wander into which and out
of) Live, dost Thou contain a marvel than
this death named Smith less strange?

Married and lies

afraid; aggressive and:American

Raw Thug music is like a magic baby moving through a world of the abrasive exteriors of people's walls 

so a . s w   o   ce yo  ts   i w s  felnssss
on s l  a   h w ut ru  oe  t   a     eigssss

stuff about time

Who cares what the hand of fate is doing?

For while in it, the fingers are invisible but felt ghosts

Whispering and pinching on necks

Prodding the habitual clusters in the brains

Slamming doors in the night

The arm of fate lying heavy and dead

As a bag of sand

Across my calloused hymen

These are things I will never get to remember

Branches of my self pruned

So that I may grow strong in a line

With a twist or two of free will for aesthetic sensibility

Yes, the hand of fate is the extremity of a gardener

Perhaps the clippings of you constitute dreams and death?

Moderate minister to get new colors courage

Accumulating a range of living actual laters

Strings to now vascular karmic hermitage

Open the broad side the edge the crack in the pillow

And wedge your hair in transmit via drainage

What time did in you


this road goes under the ocean
between Oakland California and Aukland New Zeland
and all roads are one road-time

in a far field...
where your car can't go-
when your shoes fall apart
you are out of time
space is antagonistic to 
industrialized rubber?

time is right here always
but we don't have to be

time is a fire and 
intelligence is its fuel

keep time 
keep time 
keep it 
keep it 
keep 
keep...
keep it where?
in a space?

out of time and into the space 
where everyone keeps their time
shards of time 
lodged in discarded hearts
evidence of new hearts 
made of local mud and plastic
and call the geo-genesis "Roots"
progress
regress
egress
digress
dysgress
congress

M

When I first noticed you and you were orange

You were so pretty

I didn’t want to look at you or notice you anymore

Or think of you or adapt to your color

 

Then the next time you were orange

You were so beautiful that it was ok

You were so beautiful

That is was safe to talk to you

And walk beside you

And that is what is beautiful about your walk

It is a creative walk

Like you are chasing life

-as opposed to the people who are running from it-

And there is nothing in your way

Because every thing that crosses your path belongs to you

Because you make these things beautiful

By regarding them

Giving them the opportunity to be beautiful

Proximity

When you are nearby, I begin to lose my mind-

which is good because the mind is a temporary fix built to be shed

When I start to shed it, it doesn’t weigh anything

Ego says our minds should feel heavy when we lay them down

Ego wants the burden of our mind to be a burden on the world

But I find the sensation to be more like smoke

Even more so like a comet’s tail.

Beauty explodes my mind

I cannot operate in my old manner when you are near

But my old manner was fear

When you are near I feel out of control

And all I can do is admit to myself over and

over again that I never had any control.

It is as if the power has gone out and, accepting,

I don’t feel inclined to try and get the lights back on ASAP.

I sit in the dark with you

I want to know what makes you smile

Because when you smile I am not afraid of anything

I try to be beautiful

Because I am allowed to be now that I am not afraid.

I thought I already knew how

I try to figure out if I was right, still not sure

It doesn’t matter

Trying to be beautiful means I am trying to be alive

sanity?

when i am around people, i feel like i have to shake them up, drag them into reality

or just avoid their spirit altogether

i feel like if we are going to coexist i will have to out-insane them

by holding up a mirror, saying every real thing in my mind out loud

i am not a fear-motivated person

and it seems rare to not be motivated by fear

and men and women are very different when motivated by something besides fear,
something like purpose

and when fear is not the motivator, men and women can be as different as can be and it is not a problem at all because they can see each other and see the usefulness of each other

but when men and women are just trying to escape their fear, they are both fighting for the same tiny tiny safe space and see each other as rivals and enemies and shit gets real bad. lovers can share the safe space for a while, but then one or the other will get extra scared and take more and the other person will just be out there afraid and alone

i dont know what can could should happen

and i don't even care

and it feels 

GOOOOOOOOOD

to not care one bit

what any of this means

it's happening

that's all

i'm already here

how to tell a bobcat from a tomcat

were you planning on revealing your plan? planning on it no; was i planning on reveling? reveling on a plane or worrying a piano? no i'm purposefully relevant. no, i'm washing the plants; wishes it was wednesday. wink if you wake up flying. walking flu so pale and worthless. weren't you pairing nests with piranhas? that wasn't the plan. when will you want to fess up? why waste revelations on plain faces? was i whistling? in patterns... in favorite poses...

Morning

saying a lot in the morning 
by staying
bells will be playing - far away

lights uncurl without warning
pockets of night
consumed in bites

flee the museum of deforming
envy and envy
charging motionlessly

fur on your cheek warming
as it were
enter the sun's foyer

sleep between storming
the water is deep
keep what you can keep