broken thoughts, mad rants, frenetic dreams
November 6th, 2009

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.

November 2nd, 2009

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.














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