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