Sunday, February 23, 2014


I was told an angel came
And bowled my game.
I pick noses from the sky.

Cold town
Drums and menstrual cycles.

I keep love to myself.
I've got no words, wait, more for you.
Electric depression.

Electric cock.
My art turns known.
Menstrual waltzes.
They lens-style me.

RC saw the light.
RC is always wrong.
That's the way I'll treat my love when it is answered.

Living rock, large order.
Large living rock order.
Chattering informer.
Slow focused answer.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014


Salad bowl blood

In a suitcase

Of the deaf

A ventilator membrane

Allows the voices in

There the drama

Becomes true horticulture

I'm an old war veteran

Who started out white

Oh how the bones are apples

It's an old 

Deaf salad bowl drama

Sunday, February 9, 2014


The souls of wild animals sweet and sour 
Through my eyes for air.
It's quietly pointless.
I yawn at the river.
I piss livers, palm down.

Thousands of tires legalize a thousand hours.
Either I fight or inhale ice.
A curvy amateur in a monk's robe
Matches my traps from her absence.
Hate hate hate hate.

The ancient ruins detail used water bottle lipstick.
The plants punt rubber bald heads.
The river pisses eyes for ceilings.
Mountains and forests come back into the body of their owner.
Life's greatest fool, my purifier.