the rushing of the blood in the stream
fuck up the city fathers real good
where I am the heroic Builder
shouldn’t kiss the shit-eater
“loosen strings,” from across the void
she is a magician with her vagina
who can tolerate the moody blues?
Soundtrack to suburban misery? No thanks
your expectations didn’t fall—they were pushed
the rumbling on the tea / water boil
sideburns I imagine cutting square lines in my face
grunts grunt grunt jobs “goodbye”
a preposition I end on.
Electrical outlets are anthropomorphic
a collection of sentimental verse
hammering nails you together
humanity’s coming of age brings cataclysmic change
black black leaves
I’m crying over you & you & you
spatially configured peace & headspace…
so find the Word that is revelatory.
She whispered me a boring secret
every night I get paid to turn into a moth
form a square as much as you can
Zorn blows a mean horn.
She said slowly
textile text: how I left Polly Esther & went back to Blue Jean
he could perceive a subtle hangover.
& that’s the story of how the time was made fruitful
shit fire & save matches
let’s write a new ballad for Ira Hayes
& curse the powdered shit
the title is “a massacre”
hail the noble qualities of canned milk
I wish him well enough alone
toward a radicalization of political literacy
see if they had the ability to maintain commitment like that
sad clown runs away from the circus
I’m too young to get old
I’m tired of working & I want to play
it’s good leverage
“every day is the day of something” —b.
darker than the inside of a cow
go ahead & ruin your health with overwork
put your hand in the hornet’s nest & tell me which one stung you
listen, & it will be spoken to you