This is a blank page

lectures/selections

the intramural sports
shake my head bang
into a wall

Backwards and forwards
the interned excitement travels

into which cloud

I turn upside down

an arc of golden stuffed flesh
without which

I am but impotent and powerless.

Guilt bubbles furiously on the horizon
for my beard grows
language

My words  black me out

I am hanging by a thread over a pool of boiling meth.

And furthermore, what is substance?

I used my happiness to hate people

I know a man named Joe
sanitation
ouch





ick



moss


will

Sylvia
peel

Angry woodwork spoken in anger

word dripping in sweat

scary

I am scared -- bombs


I walk too much above the  hole.

Oh Geez

Sickness dies every day
There is poison in my cup

What folds my words?
Inside and out the work goes on.

Nine Days of Terrorism

Thoughtlessly I press up against the dire column of poems that inhabit the books below and to the left of me.  It is still the time of day when god desires his words to become lord of drug habits.  Killing the insides is a matter for society to attend.  With my lovers I retch underneath myself widowing a long armadillo from Georgia.  Below and above go the fliers de lis of fame and rotten broken safety.  Will is here pounding my words into a lonely freedom cruelly egoistically loaded with sou r prancing graters.  The cheese s pouts in a fountain for all to parrot and I bounce off the walls as if made of rubber.
\

Quilt this and write of your parents' love for you and all the anger you have contained for face.

Keel nay rope.

Timebomb

Blowing myself up is probably not a good idea.  Neither is blowing up a policeman or the President.

So I'll just write what may be on my mind or whatever it seems the Goddess wills.

hacking women is the computer of my rose bartending an equal for a drink this evening up and down my brother's openness in the back.  This thought makes me abuse my column of pressure which stands int for he whole body inside which is me or less than me.

Why I took a shower today.

Over a week since.

I am going down a limited speed road with no one to look out for but plenty of peop0le to look after me.  If I lie about drug use the  n I can stay in the adult foster home.  Without it I would be homeless. It seems useless to propose to Jamie that I send her a thousand dollars so she can move to Ohio.  I think she wants me to be seasoned by his rude institutionalization .

Guilt is a head.  Deed ,iron moron to god.

Assets include the ir is of muses above.  Dear must please allow my words o gravely bizarrely attain kin d less.

Estrogen weeds dissolution into strains and work.  For Work dissolves terdrorism alone by mt crimes.  Ecastasyt kills ire with underwear around the throat.

Issues:  Will pronounces my name with a "JJ" instead of a Z or H.

Fricatives and plosives and aspirants and ?



Elevator wirwords excite nvbrass drains underneath the poem.  I taste like a whore because I fail to live prettily.

Divorce from Shaida wouldn't kill me.
\I am lost behind music playing in my headset.  It is a minuscule world without capes and grief.  I am upside down rotating widdershins with a big can of hairspray sticking out of my gluteus maximus.  I am also on the beach walking the dog into the sunset, which shines despairingly because all its partners departed for the Hayden Planetarium in July before the eclipse , which dropped in like my grand mother's sisters in 1970.

Estrogen belongs with rome because under the caesars the world discussed artistry as if no one really wanted to care about qoekwork.  Easy rats.  I am a work rat.  I will disappear into work once iI start writing which cANNOT be as a time bomb but only as a golden boy Stanford graduate with a million possibilities ahead and behind d, like wearing a fine silk roan on a silk hammock below sick trees in the silken sun enshrine,

Ex bombs work underneath my square tent.  Pondering my family, I see friendly woman, I see womanly parsons.  I cannot dis the  m as bad people.  It is u der my fatuutous rule that not g matters for my romans.  Ex Vjirgil calls him self thee father of Julia, the daughter, nice or sister of Caeasars in the past.

Forever god.]


Wop is loving.

Be gone, family.

Sitting down and making it better

The verse line and the prose line

Devils exercise my neck
Involvement creates rap

Ladders rise beneath my brother's eaves.
In the middle the dog eats.

Queer larks lose my poem
In the fear of men.




I am dissolute

I am gone down a road without eyeliner or makeup remover.
Veritas vaseline works a will on my lenses.

Stuck in the middle with you.
I breathe smoke facing it.



Turmoil is melancholy

Still the animals whisper under the sun
Anxiety whips the worried into sh ape.

Density lauds the kindness of the
Ill protagonist to make her laugh.


Chase me down the street

Under the will of the Goddess
The chase mortifies me\

And turns me into a worker
To my pa ct.


It is best

Your process is underlain by a pinch of hate.
Or am I a prick law argument nasty change?


Dancing with limes

Thaumaturgic entrance into my pubis
Is sought a her pencil dynamism leaves me be.

Tilling the ground for Tillamook cows and goats
Parts elevation's swell with a dim road

Twill and linen gather into a bunch of grapes
That I eat greedily.


This is an empire

Underneath Trump resides
A shit-lined opening

To his prick.

Clearly effigies must
Remember this fact.