that horselegsdagger for grallopsightseen excursivefrom a momentoas once the whilethe rest of the pageis just a bunch ofblack ants,rapidly running aroundsomewhere out theresinking teeth intobones until bloodcrisscross w/ chitchat,might define marrowmove, stop, move.spotty, fading the glareswallows up wholeeasy to lose,forget it.uncobbled circumstancetornword toward, thatparticular version thisturns out to beextrainformational fringesconclusion, total cessation.external as eating,gomphosis & gutstattered gauzesuturing same wound(localized)in filthy familiarity,mappable as always.present conditionthere's no nowverum esse ipsum factum- - - - - - - - - - - -
like anal sex with a drunken cheerleader when an actual football player asks you what it's like (savage samaritan). the DNA banks are now closed...
i loosened my lugnutsto rubba roadway& grease my balls to bearing,miles & miles lines & lineswhen rolling goesthru gaping holesthe lube jobsnever enough,friction of pistonblow'd hotplugs&octane ain't racin'unless snuffy smithguns that wormclear drippin'"sweet spirits of cats a-fighting"thanx for commentin'i owe you some mail,i'll get my ass in gear pronto.
sweat kats of kats a-farting
sweatkats a'fartin= )good onei ain't never heard moonshine called "sweet spirits of cats a-fighting" , but recently came crossit & it fits 'cause that hi-proof cornliquor will make a man mean & cross-eyed, but w/ a sweet playful spirit of course --my uncle gets some pretty good moonshine, but he don't make it, what he does make tho, is muscadine wine & that stuff is does it up right.when i was up in North Carolina, the public-broadcasting teevee station play'd a documentary about moonshine w/ a coolcat named Popcorn Sutton & his art & his battles w/ the Law -- damn, that man has got one of the best genuine laughs i've ever heard, anyway, it put them lines in my head & reconfirmed what i dig about "southern heritage" etc.here's a trailer from the flick:The Last One - - - - - -
He said to the camera:southrn shitrock skid marksin yr sparks of a mowhark tooth or egg to paste it right-odown the center spiked the line the clutch to the nuthin shutter off the gangly clutter cats got biscuitsof in ,or like..."your soaking in it."length of no eatin on the showing ribletsscheme dream for beans to cross the pond. and carve north.to catalysts, tinctures andwhore torn and heavens beard it grows. hour fourth fodders conned and deceived a gnu neigh! shun!for people like troylloyd.the candy is dandy butt.the tabloid aisle contraindicatesthe catholics icons on candy bars.your candy bars.and cats.ibid booger. it wasnt foryour shore gonnerclump yr ankleswith tape missing hairs from slappinwrip: make coffee write something bad& then tear it up.cubpoards of knick coals be peeinin yr mouthhoof gee eff it's pedress sing stuff ist das,ja? .def jargon in reverse.presents:a hologram of troylloyd's.racecardont go.
AAH BLAH WOW HMMjack slicer four twuz iodine w/evr- reek (bleach free) Tide eyeham das planned i wished to see eesh grade of stand wither U.S. willy Bif we are dead.bread n buttercumbersome outlookit theknookthe shadow of tickand drippy glowyplastic covered couches.call me Ayeham Rowtep!sea cur of clocks!drunk rocks mashed upppathe stool in yr notionto see a hug feel a voice a thonfond memories a due. shelly duvall.like your tee the torn out skirtsacred mental testitude iciclemomentum scroll sans serif sanskritskee dootruly blue about lost momentswhen there wernt so much gosh darnEMPHASIS ON FUCKING PURPOSE.
babbly blue :pt two boobiesshakin like two babies face rubbin to get herslipper sea rockin motion thru herin her inert glazedovert mowin hurtdown syndromecalipers on the docks the frenchjust took.tongue locks and sins knows in the roamin chargeher breathy voice memories bendcrotch. wrought with delight tonights lay wasted in her huge.crevass terminal moron rains tumorswho this is? super inclusionstill wanna cut 'er,tho.to save reality.you see.
Jeff:thanx for the poems.i'm gonna wake up early & fuck w/ my clutch, & damn how i hate carwork intha cold, what's weird is, after lookin' at the map, the hospital is like straight due east from atlanta, all the way to the carolina coast, georgia's got that slant.i'd like to make it down for the Golden Age of Comics show, sounds like it'll be up my alley, how'd it look when you dropt off yr stuff?we could go check out the paper museum too -- didja ever get the info on that cool scrapyard dude toldya about?
bag atcha the cleft. partial tome ,partial leek, sedimentary vial...see the bottom of the bag.and the loggia is filled with bagasse.excrement of ancient icemans ichthyophthirius tatts and bags of stash strains.the widening canal of yr birth ,rush in symbolic,moo like it is low and sentimental.standard plane ticket to navrecheska is pollo asado.if you like pina colado oh mexico cheeseburger rocky top sky rocketswhen r you gonna come down?i nevr thought id meet so many people.space cadet glow inch bug i dont have any links to post or lengths of passion to cut n paste.dammitall..cuz i dont really care im on mimic mode slash pseudo apathetic disassociative auto-pilot..how did this happen,troy? when did i ..leave?where is my mind?
i was just thinkin about that scrapyard!lets go!holla atcha boi.or i mean...oh screw ithey wally! gee wouldja call me tonight after dinner?
oh and my stuffy drop offyou ask of Jeff Dahlgrenso proper.goodness.nod to nod of friends r friends for art aint friends in the sensethat you are the theme ofno. i know that i know thebookthe bookthat bookthat thing that sits in paces gaze inside the grace of a sage,pliable way to see with wordsorphan,sirmy drought echoe checking accountan asterix next to a piece of lint.no sense of direction or dream anymore. the fucking oar got dropped three months or three yearsago.making signs sux. my art sux. im a shitty writer..not a poet. those werent poems. they were me filling space. my center is filled with hypocriscy unknown even to my denial ridden ass.ability to cold crank yr shaftin undercover http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXdkbbdx9JUbutter cup. hippy love and washed up with baby eyes and two hugs and thanks for showin up and thanks for showin in the show..shit like that.the stuff sux. duped wizard of filtersstand before gallons!sacrifice the sore elbowdisguised as meaning friendlymemory of yr think yr table turns andit does.
is too, notta drivebyebyethrow 'em poem square feetper inches, wait what hip pocketeightballs to wall 'nscratch'd fast to lastare poem poem?what poem?when on poem must go gushing,a prompt, this i improvhey, like right nowin gums stuckor somethingless stickylike paid up ticketstabb'd for perforationw/ magic tape invisiblemissing guitar stingsfor strum no drone,all my bling for a flophouseor room to rent fittinglyoutside size or shapeor sense or landlordsbugg'd Adair Park& i even missStewart Ave.&the long red bootsof hookers in winterw/ short fur coatsgivin' me eye as i passa house a home a loneto lend fencelessfor lushes & corksundone in electricof plugs such juicelythat grape giddies gallop& now or never ain't even everorbobba knothead gnarlyw/ thump'd'thump roll'd26 to skidoo overagain to end&homelandain't nohouseland,power company.(final notice)
roger that. home alone makin coffee til midnight.strap on yr kitty sac.pile out the tulipsdrape the cowboy paintingssassy the furloughquaker the octopus peel the silver bill.pay the quiet drip offfumble the adornmentspurple up the knicker bockerquality control messiah thymegarbage chute.call me ayeham rowtep!sounds in a houseyou know is supposedto be emptyare creepy.surely coffee isnt that loud.i need to find that moleskine with the name and number of that junk place dammit it's on the tip of my
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