there is less and less to say...

Mayhap like the subtle caterpillar

or...

in a burning glory of the Phoenix.
 
Herman'd said he'd fucked Bob. I didn't ask him. The car was in the mud and he was pushing. Fuck who Herman'd fuck'd!
 
Ever since Wally and The Beaver left, June and Ward hardly speak to each other.
 
it's the tired tire that whines so before it gives way...

does it bother you,
old man,

that your relevance
is as pegged to your past
as it could ever be
to this bitterness?

your problem with hagiography
is
that you, yourself...
are less and less confused
with the saintly here.

lash as you will.
it's not political...

with you
it's just a cripple's tell.
 
Tonight's was a Merlot.
I feel that I should apologize,
but I'm exhausted.
 
meant to stop by last sunday...
was captured by the chumash
and their pocohantas demanded a trip to the atm...

then the rain stopped
and it was 2am
and my bed beckoned...

drove me right southly...

next time?

Reminiscent of a nearby casino?

To be amidst the scent of what awaits for me over that mountain
The sea beckons from the front
The grapes waft through me from behind
The Santa Ana's of youth
 
Rose was still crying. I'd given her a pill and some juice and held both of her hands. She was safely alone.
 
it was clearly a descent
and she craved the thrill of the ride.

dark night phone calls
just to snatch a voice;
lies that spread as perfume.

it was cold
and lonely and perverted in the hole in which she'd dug.

the ugly part...

no one cared to know
or
even cared to care.

stingrays swirl as horses
on a fortnight's spiral ride...

moan
worn witch
into the void.
 
broken toys
hobbled wheels
wheezing dollies
pop guns

stirrups on half-trick ponies

delusions.

manufactured feeding time...

and off again.
 
Tuesday is as good as Friday, twice blessed, I prefer Sunday. I want it for a month.
 
tuesday got welded onto jeff saturday;`.
a hike in the rates til al monday stole it back for the government.
they called in friday... just the facts ma'am...
but sunday rose wasn't always a kid man!
urban assault and all with
wednesday adams on a soon to be banned firearm.

no one names their kid thursday.
so,
sol on that one, bud...

your premise remains extremely week.
 
However Thurston Howell III comes in mighty close.
I heard he was on a three hour tour.
 
sarah found this off-book place where all the one-way streets made sense.
 
i know
i know
i told myself

more scold than told quite soothing

and trembling
i touched the face
which by
same hands...

now nothing

no monster, no
i told myself

more wish than reason's gleaning

i kissed the face
now cooling flesh

once dear,
i must be going
 
i know
i know
i told myself

more scold than told quite soothing

and trembling
i touched the face
which by
same hands...

now nothing

no monster, no
i told myself

more wish than reason's gleaning

i kissed the face
now cooling flesh

once dear,
i must be going

shadup drown.
 
Back
Top