Saturday, June 29, 2013

Spider, so did.

I climbed out of my bed
and so did the spider.
I walked to the bathroom
and so did the spider.
I wept in front of the mirror
and so did the spider.

Talk Me Out Of My Old Ways

Olden days, older waves, crescent caves.
I can't do aluminum and still feel real.
Stuffing panda bears with temperaments
of temporary peppermint is quite evasive.

Take a break, please.

The summer of the folded cloth
is almost too pleasant to be true.
Eurovision androids layer
cotton onto chrome.
The fashion is horrid because
tie-dye has been outlawed.
The hippie market has crashed.
I remembered the heavy heated rays
gently fading colors of perfect tie-dyed cottons.
It was lovely.
Hawk calls out in distance,
fabric plays with the breeze,
colors colliding my eyes with clean
interpretive dance sought out to gather the rain.
Rain clouds would be a blessing
to do away with this drought.
Add a chaser of mineral vodka,
granola in your parfait,
dip me into clay.

Friday, June 28, 2013

Take Me To Suicide Lake

Let me decide where
the blue stops
as it filters into an ambiguous haze.
If it not be for the night
that came to save the porcelain tunicate,
then let it be salivating raccoons
fumbling around in the midnight
create the transparency of
modulus duality clarify
the sanctity of screams.

My advice is given
on the graying shores of
Suicide Lake,
talking up against the sky
all the weightless particles
add up to something so much
greater then I.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Ballerina Takes Steroids

If only feet could walk on air
and crush steel
without realizing the suffering
of imbeciles like the darkness
flees from fire
swept under the rug
due to accelerates of rushing
ballerina feet.
The art form of stampede
is now captured.

Borderlands Falsely Acclaim the Accelerates

Dear Dessert Contractor,

In sublime constitutions of research
we reach the out limits.
If it was all for your sanity,
then we have to triple the
intensity of the venom.
The dessert snakes are radioactive.
I am vindictive to you.
Please take my apologies
and I shall wither away in
relentless silence.

The Art of Hobo Subculture

Friday, June 14, 2013

I remember when I played with...

I remember when I played with icicles
to form the tip as sharp as a knife
and kill myself with strength
of frozen love.
I remember when I played with spiders
to assault the clans of Marlborough
and send their hearts running
crumbling to the floor.
I remember when I played with fire
burning healthy trees
reduced to ashes
the people passing.
I remember when I played with life
and with every great loss
comes competition to find
new homes again.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

I Am Feeling Innvasive

my people are sad and estranged from regular human contact. often lonely, they saunter in the crowds like awkward ghosts. they are merely a strange impression of air and dust whipped up to perform a task of a fake smile and pretend that they care about life, but in fact, do not care at all.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Correct Pronunciation of Poem

Poem is like

Po and then eeeeeeeeeeem.


Have  a nice life.

Imagine I Am Without WIne

Take a taco truck and pull a reversal time lapse
in everlasting memory of
Reverend Grandclotch.
Coax your eyes into viewing
the rabid fornications
and adultery sex tool umbrellas.

I Remain as a Truly Independent Ransom Note

Locked away falcon
remembered fiercely
of the morbid prisons
of taxidermy high.
Recognition is an
overthought improvication
of all that may behold
on ones landing strip of time.
Elemental pansies,
tin can husbandry,
Eiffel tower rivalry...
I've had it up to Mars and back.
Drink me some vodka
and sit to relax.
Heady times are in due
of great strength.
if I could be writing to you
I would, but  I am nodding off.
Leave me the horseshoe fame
and time to fragmentize the commonplace.
It's time to deferral the spice rack.

Dear Funeral Processions of the Future...

You broke my eyelash
breaks my beak
utters to my teeth,
"You're a black sheep."
Beep beep beep
in my ear
sheds of tear
crescent moon bare.

Too see this now
would be too deep
in all is succulent
inside tumors we trip
to me there is money
on moon's surface far,
yet the heart of rich blood
leaves me to mercy for
clot the veins
part away the sarcasm
and join an occult punk rock
band that bakes bread
and marvels ceramics
redunduncy to become
a pitcher or a vase.

Interpret the mold,
release the spores,
acquire salty spices from
the North Atlantic shore!

1[1:2]4 P[oe]M

put my eggs in the crates and carry them both together
put my eggs in the crates and kick them over the hill!
put my blush on and take my wig off and roll in the broken eggs
sing a song eat the eggs dye my finger tips blue
smash the sign take the sign and control the government
all the egg crates and all the eggs hunstmen could not define socialism inside the oven!

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

See You There

The comforts are natural
out of every window.
Your viewing pleasure is
a pile of melting flesh surrounded
waving round flagpoles
with standard gratuity fee.
Your foe is the same as my foe,
it belongs on my toe.

Monday, June 10, 2013


"I bread your pumpernickel book and I don't know rye everyone thinks you're hot pita right now. There's something seriously ciabatta with you." From Anon on someone's tumblr. I thought the bread words were used quite cleverly.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Lonesome Heart Arrhythmia

Wry salt flat attacks of ghouls sitting upon stools.

Stagnent management intentions desuade

Post-Neo-Recognition Sources: Error

A piece with a wood in the night stove.
The fragments that grew and flew out of a shoe.
Albanian monasteries drew flames from scary sherries,
replaced their slow wit with loving Garys
and you got bit by a dove.
When will this strange world end?

Neo-Nonsense and Nouveau Madness

I am plotting out my nonsense and madness in repetitive ways hoping to gain reactions, objects of concern, love from anonymous dangers, and soothsayer accounts of hesitation. Yet, I end up with nothing at all. I am forever held in my bubble of sorrow. It keeps enforcing the fact that loneliness is far better then letting myself get hurt again.

A Long Breath and then finally I Realized the Sheet

Muffled super fighter flightier.
Lightning in wind of response depraves my attitudes of dudes that are lost.
Will I mean to never do it again? I am desperate for prayers in the hands of a bush.
Loaded baked potatoes emasculate the escalators full of skeletons and spiders.
Keen on decisions of decepticons, Clara retrieved her answer machine...
"I am a mess in this time of month in this certain place in a Saturday out of the year."
Exclamations are didactics tricking the clandestine salvation saliva delivering whistles to those that might have been or will be raped. "Never too late to own a whistle," screams Clara as she is absolved of all her sins. Since then, Bruce has never seen Clara again. We join her now in Mars.

Forceable Talks

Newspaper waves change
fangs dangling trays
sidecars give to take away
show stoppers release cake toppers
hot pockets of sunshine snooze
crowd sourcing infantile pride
produce practical alinement sights
fixate stubborn shoes.

Dreaming In Between The Self-Made Waterfall Mistakes

I cranked up the radio
as soon as the plumage
of algae deflated your hair.
Your reputation is displeasured
by the ornate shadow castings
off of ceiling fans with eyelashes.

Yes, I know I make you mad.
We are the love that never breaks.
All the tears are representational formats
of the emancipated earthquakes of the bed.

Stone conjunctivitis activity
abnormalities terminal of windmills
adding capture ridden fifth seasons
fundamental wonder police
unoriginal origami rag time mamas.

This time we spilled the tank
and spoiled the fruits at half baked
half mast whatever halfling takes the cake.

Based upon your uterine cancer,
the doctor determined to have you undermined
in the last minute round of poker.
The prejudice parade is smoking tuna.
Eat thy sandwich in a wind tunnel.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Double Edged Contingency

A plan of a place
is palace of grace
drowning in boiling water
the submergible is never devastated
or overcome with fear.
A dirigible is able
to float above the hemisphere
on all accounts of misdemeanors
and ill suited volunteers.