In Go Wooden Quarter. Out Come Dead Gum Ball.

Tact. Spindle in a vacuum cleaner.

Slug ant farm. Calls for distinction.

Cinder, not bark! Concrete, not tap root! Hang

a portrait of the viva sun on spore wallpaper.

Rut the zeppelin. You’re the only animal

that dumps dusk in the drunk tank & tells it to sober up

in a pixel belvedere dress. Wtf.

 

Preacher’s boy.  Calls for extinction.

Purge the belly.  Too much honey in the wine.

They say that black boy’s gonna fry in the oil vat.

Never got the go ahead to suck down all those pills.

Suicide is the nature of the cell.  Cancer a refusal

To dry out the scarf.  Had too many wet dreams

in lighter fluid.  Bush fire. Adonai spoke in strokes.

Bomb Nagasaki.  Props.  Offer him a cig. Kill him

casually. Props. Nike cotton gin in Indonesia. Poverty

for shoes.  Props.  Black boy pill his heart? Naw.

Suicide is nature in the cell.  Sober up. Wtf.

 

Doc Jones.  He knows occidental linguistics.

Dead Latin.  Wipes dust off the projector.

Decades of closet work.  Hours. Days.

Shotgun shells on the floorboards.

Smoke gone like tree branch in a snow globe.

Paid off.  The high brow applaud.  They dig holes

in Styrofoam too.  Say there be China.  Dressed in drag.

On throne you might sit.  Still on envelope flat a*s. Wtf. 

Reviews

[miSS LEaf]

Indonesia? i am touched