A block, brick, heavy hold. Tempted tried, lights flash bright, strobelike distractions. Faces smooshed, pushed, smashed, handled, trampled. Smoke beams cast evil shadows and weather walls to heart shaped hems and viral gems. Cages cling clang, bang against metal art, architecture. Erect stalls crash through crumbling walls, forming hills, lumps with wood hips. Flashed forward clothing bangs of blue crust battered from the hazy waves of old perfume and flammable tire suits. Brown grayish tips of leather, white grips of knuckle luck, fisting baby ankles in high heeled combats. Sisters cutting film strips glued to dollfaced hair boy lamb costumes. Sulking clumps of frothy fat tears gulping back grease smiles tucked into folds of caramel fake fruits. Camping outside in heaps of paper tubing, rubbing alcoholic apoxy, creams, cans and ointment, skinned knees. The cold barks leapt out like cats from trees, after paper money like dragon myths. Squished battered rolls fade out into groups of muti-colored hoses dripping wet with burnt blood capsules, packed into crates near backs of buildings before being put into semi trucks in the following days.
Retreating the party’s rage.
only 10 feet tall
Filled with nails, high bathroom stalls, walk-ins with talking bashing, eating callers, speakers of laughter melting into puddles of snaking filthy mass. Closet shelf holes of plastic video cassettes spelling out train on the side walk in the sun for one. Baked roof patterns listing objects or feeling for overcapture, exposure rains cascade to bottom trenches deep cut through forest yards and inches from styrofoam doors and plexi-window units slathered with ball cream and sustaining hair wax, covered in crinkled cupcake foil tops and bottoms milking out the sun chemicals without the light, re-gifting big lipped aisles to shrude plant caps on the interior once furniture pieced potted sitting or destroyed wood, and structure.
Walled cracked inward, blistering, trapped, gorgeous. Peeling putrid papers to rips and tears, spreading open sores into rooms with bare castles of disgust. Driving cans shoved deep in mattress filling stained with semen blood drenched mornings, cast in mold and breakfast paste, seeped in thick stench hammering at showered skulls, pieces of vein, tissue and follicles of bare skin bathed in white paint glued to narrow feelings and soft shattered drawers.
sweets and soft shoes.
might this talking tall hat balled and neat, keep clean and sweet.
half worn in beds with caps on posts the back of summer’s claps.
sheaths instead broken locks melted inside campers closet knocks.
calm in wagon wheels of some beyond a lamp the same ideas belong.
light cast visceral tiny shapes played out like giant friends in capes.
passed by cottage streams for show milking lifts on cancer’s row.
fans of clans beat down the whole, buttering hot bread to sooth the mold.
ghosts by the corner jails with stripes brought up to the teachers on phones at night.
sitting bells of waves of sound beautifully somber deep deep into town.
drips of all candles folded on quilts flickering splatters on gardners tools.
tripped up alas, by sweeping soft shoes.
sweets of old fish oil seem less amusing to brand new adults.
when will another one tongue slash a thought.
by girl this crush, these divine.
by boy this cushion, leave it behind.
inspired by orphans
the easier wood gives slight to midnight faces, sometimes developing leather-like wrinkles and pretending to walk upright, the easier creeks bend. Spaghetti straps tend to replicate method of pretending as they fall or give. Habitats suckle on huge nipples from outside the woodland home, gaped open for the mammals and insects to resurrect their aging soils. Tied knee deep within was a small girl. Her bike, fresh out of training lay nearby, her hair had been burnt off by a blow torch. Her scabbing scalp left bleeding, sensitive to the touch, to the slap of stained wet clothing wrapped around proper seating, smells of velvet whisping in front of her electric nose and sweat, throat perched on a thin log burning out at one end. The foil folds amongst the paper trail held often good foods, but none she could reach. The closest to her were traces of goiter and dung covered in the skin and hair of previous delicates. Milk splashed her numerous parts and laughter dangled its single testicled lies above her nearly impotent face. She asked for forgiveness this time, she asked for cake and ice cream as well and then all the happy forest animals came to play and enjoy in the cake and ice cream…and jupiter jump and the show was over.
About the Major Record Industry as a “hole.”
Strangled bloody lung fucking-Swinging global hits from a toasted sick bag and years. just angry from eating all the puff paints in the rain. thousand hits at number one blew out by a trail of dandelions in a foggy boat ride. Simple stagnant mentally cripple fucks eating cum from the shit tasty frosty mug slides lining the highways covered in popsensitive umbrella toppings and tables made from luncheon meat and hazy afterbirth smiles painted in a rainbow fasion so all the robotic feti know where to go spend their first paychecks or that of the breeding asshole that shat them into tomorrow and forgot to flush. Goo stained piles of goo thrusting into evil canyons, then covered in cement not intended for travel. spacy waves hover in the swamp lands that ooze very berry extra fruity stool samples into soft serve cellular ball throwing machines similar to the tennis ones, but douche operated.
Baby chicken legs shoved or injected in the cavities of polar bears fried on sticks, hung in sweaters for heated billboards. Gasoline soaked anal trophs scoop into the souls and emotions of the green and brown shirted banner ads, disintegrating them like invisible cups or mugs. they suck down rapids of what they know to like in exchange for actually knowing and cry bald plastic tears that could make beaded necklaces for Africa or smile in paper sacks for a little while. No one brings their lunch anymore. Very few bring snacks. So how do we know about the other meats and colors. How do we know what we aren’t trying isn’t the best? How do we know that more of them won’t make less of it better over time? Shit is shit. Eat it up, fucking fucks.
mari-posa, ca
the brilliant side of gold dulled today slight. bread knives were sharpened to spears near angles. five leather boys unearthed a milky song with their mouths and fingers. blue hyacinth shadows the cars of neighborhood fixtures and light. hums picked up early in shopping cast widow’s dresses near various overtones on buttons and knobs for a luxurious final. Tug tug past the calendar paper lapses with new days in jungle suits they all wear from the cup dripped a plastic book or two. nine feathers growing underbrush tight gifting dear eagles pretend they might die. if shifty the corn holder asshole in view from plastic ostrich carving formulas nearby. legs push the screws and cycle the froth back to corners, back to the stamp collected blood fry where cities divide often. Junked rot tires and duct taped genital lambs brought out by girls in cans if they can on television ties with broken america shape stains tattoos on the medieval earth. all added to less speaker systems at some point or built up into nothing before eyes in stationary stations. pronto pronto. & someone’s son pretends to be just that.
Shanked by Trollfucks
Visitors to prison garb heckled by sad clamps on mad clown chairs wing tapped against winding guilded light patch strong men. painted pans and pots post details candied and marked by grass eyed soft spells and lamb’s blood stabbing fist fulls of hair follicle sloth water betting light gasps under pressure. slick oil filled robes of lumps and short curves masked in bearded froth sweat and scale tissue. fingers scratching burnt skin fixes making waves of pain to the no longer ticklish soldier. sliders enter slip grease holes wasting gobs of milky excess dropping splatters on angry body parts. bacteria, disease, misfortune comes clean dethrowned under the hot uncomfortable blanket of skin webbed over walls and tacked with sticking thumbs sharp from scabbed knives and nail knuckles.
Dry forceful thrusts of bare barked hammer skinned thick to vein covers and dark red meat wraps hitting fast learning to taste dry blood mess through fruit rot stench and disarray. Followed closely by sad dragging acute pear shaped trickles and clanging of under water chains slashing at deep purple gashes massaging bird sounds coughing in thunderous noise cavern walls crumbling aside from beating weight structures of painful shards near bone cutting needle pricks nose holed bounds beyond bare flesh through slick strapped organ like gas cans and enormous glass sheeting. Strings of clutter clumps trash mildew stains on carpet walls wet with light green residue dripping soft frost from forests rich with ribbed harnesses destructing butterfly wings pouring out small animal carcasses into stretched deadly vibration casings.
drab upon loot litter honings.
shells built lit laughter planks distressed by wet metal spears dropped like fast shoes. froth beat sided grumps beyond grumbles for hats into hands. necks tied around body building ham mats rolled in cubic acidic force from the shoving of disasterous and packing into milked units of cans. the feather apron sheers taught kindle rotting in backs of parlor paging magic swindler whores all the type like fucking in dirty skirted toe bone breakers pouncing little nip slaps of chin’s chins on small pedal hours for hours near belt loops looks and shatters. at last elephant skin ripping tough within worn out odd frog turtle leg webbing crackling whipped vein-ripping cod net delivery in. tree roots battle planes in sidewalk shadow funnies cock to tip a coke or two if plump pounds shift at glory peeps and swimmer’s shiny teeth cast for corn…oil.
soft toof tumble dry
trembling white castles shinning like amalgamated androids shifting testicle romance toward the blood storm. pies without cherries make their way from a slimmed filth napkin hangar like pupils of a black hound on a ladder. bare sticks on cakes fading in closet doors nearing stale death. property decisions lose grass hands beyond young sick lies and ticks in the linoleum tiling. eager birds bid soft with tired necks and strains. featured baked goods mask pickled sausage feathered in soups. making giggles fly from tongues.
mother’s love.
gleaming steady streams stuck out in the colors of people like lungs on the transplant board, shining like ambivalent madrass pockets basements covered in smoke rings. small children wince and wriggle as light electric orbs dance about their limbs. fainting featherweights fall victim to the flaming borders of wallpaper. plastic bricks are superglued to follicles on the outside gates attaching ghost screams to minds. hills are seen in the distance as lumps of golden saddle bags. left-leaning liars destroy chances of winning with cream soaked oars and wax make-up. The children laughed to near tears as their beloved soldier, the saw toothed donkey, crowned hero himself, sat back against the poison soaked embers of ancient torture struck suddenly still with deathlike stabs. The laughter of one, a female, overpowered the rest sucking most of the air out of the room with her curdled cackles. Drapped in dirty paisleys, she pretended not to notice their fear, but began to take full advantage of every drop, soon to destroy them in return. She cocked back her small neck, revealing her most evil mark, her most commanding thought and her nefarious transformation. Those that ran caught skin on nails and watering devices, which morphed into their scattered knees, splattering blood across the faces of remaining feeble tykes. Her cussing, hissing, pail breath slithered through their small group, shattered toe bones, taking jabs at hard flesh. Soon, with waves of fading consciousness, they arose to prepare a meal, whilst the whips of truck chains clambered among their tiny spines. Smells of wet stains, mildew, semen and pork filled their senses. A full steed of violent cowhounds drilled the cave-like doors. rodents attempting to leave were swallowed whole or tied to lower backs. dangling prosthetic limbs dropped through cracks in the oily, seeping ceiling. staples and torches were used to fuse them to preexisting carcasses and pulled apart bodies, still breathing, still standing. her transformation was truly remarkable lit softly by the fire light, as she frothed deep into open wounds. bubbles attached to sharp acidic frames of walls and vile heat never to dissipate, growing from within. horrid scowls detested the remaining innocents and hovered over calm, damp eyes as if made from sand. teeth jut through pastries, soups and bone, plastered with mold and disease laden bacterian fighters. the scarred mass of melding ooze went toward her pity, clasping small spoons eager for a bite or two for their suffering, heated by the glow of her orange peel-like skin. Bothered, she tossed a torpedo boot, high-heeled, through the mass destroying part of what will surely be her greatest creation. rage camped on her shoulders and pierced it like a broach as she clambered. the melted trough of life, death and other gathered its strength and plunged thousand of withered bone shavings into her thighs. the poisoned stilts of war dropped vigorous bomb upon her bed, while mouths were equally sewn shut. tiny dribbles of laughter etched their way from nestled seats and guided unearthly blows for their final bouts. It kept her alive at long last to maintain a reminder of when they were it and how to never go back. a year past before the half breeds returned with all their wolf like features and camped on a bridge. summoned by their laughter and her guidance, the patched goose necked gleam of the nearly immobile strong hold is soon darkened. one glimmer in her partially destroyed eye remains to thank them, as the summoned remember their love for their mother before her passing.
grappling hooks
these eyes are fixed high on a smog boat toasting like a silk aisle in the bastard ember glow. fierce panicked suppliers cut holes in small bags for their cancer tubes and lick tight wounds for their friends and impatients. their lust lingered out like a tire swing on its second return with a spin or two. fingers grew like tall cactus on the crust of winter. soft curls of milk danced the night out, but seemed to be the only ones invited to the event. cans of acorns jumped about like large depth finders already at the bottom of one ocean, unbroken. camping tiles crackled in the burnt wind and the sound whispered around trunks of elephant trees, full of magnificent cattle. the friends payed nine times the amount for seed because of traveling and their luck matched their bitter hands with festering sores, a bubble with canopy tours and fragile tears from a vectorized tea cup. The fine others spent no time relaxing their distorted testicles in pools of blood, but list the numbers of splashes destroyed on the earth by ten second forces or fabrics from marshlands, trotting to end world hunger, never coming closer than a thousand thumbnails. in the end they will all eat breakfast combining more technicalities than any sport in the history of the milky way’s stars, but with less intelligence than a saltine cracker or two.
video to come shortly.
indigesticide…
I remember holding two candles made of wax and strong scented elements from far away lands like the mines under Egyptian temples or the great marsh lands of Bhurma, or the salt pits at the St. Louis Zoo. Smelling them. Breathing in deep. Often tasting them. “These are two completely different candles,” I thought to myself in disarray. Dizzy and disordered, I put them back on the shelves. Others will certainly not believe what I have believed or encountered. The candles at Pier 1 Imports smell slightly better than those at Target and are minimally more appealing. Just go there. You will see for yourself. If only we could take all the candles from all the Pier 1 Imports around the world, melt them down and create one giant candle. Maybe the candle has a slide in it…in fact, maybe thats how the offices are at the mines where they dig for wax to make the candles. They probably build a new wax slide every week. They probably drive wax cars to work and feast on golden spray-painted wax fruits and a cornucopia of sweet waxy delights. And then there are the human candles……Here is a beautiful Paris Hilton candle. What a lovely table setting we will have with a few of these babies this Thanksgiving Holiday.
I ran so far away.
I cut my nails in half the night before last. I melted down the sharp removals with some hair for a dining room set. I blurred the outcome so others couldn’t see it and gave it a small plastic fuck hole, some tubing, and some sparkling light fixtures. I will present breakfast on it for my family around the holidays. They never give a fuck, with laughter. Hope this sheds light on the jumpsuit bunny plate china I leave on their steps in the cold or the pain pill lacerations I scotch taped to my inner eyelids. Wish I could get the money back for all that shipping. Pigeon beak necklaces can be heavy in weight. They nearly oppose the feathery mons pubis I painted red and sent so far away, and the blended jungle octopus diarama, featuring Abraham Lincoln, I labeld “return to sender.”