"WOULDN'T YOU LOVE TO HAVE ME" @ Asphodel Madness

HASH BROWNS ARE

sorry for the way we scar. In the Information Age... fuck it, never mind, it's all

part of the poem's less-is-more absurdity. A store shows me smiling and

laughing. I love the idea of protection. Mink and rabbit fur; the pink ends

repeated. I'm sorry, I've lost the nerve. Can't recall when I ever got dislocated

from finality. In Iowa, there is wind. Goalpost bubbles between two ears. Obviously 

the sheer number causes soldier-on-soldier constipation. After we finish health care...

fuck it, never mind. I see them bring out my gentleman in a bloody shirt, prick shot

off. I'm devastated, I've lost my hero. Hostile elements cleanse, vigilant sanitizers

patrol the vast future. Dad's old light. Roomy leather from a rough suction.

HE MOVES A ROOM AND SOBERS UP

simply and stupidly as I hide your head if

you are thirsty. We'll dill a black cauldron's jam

according to the car in tears since the show

keeps satisfying a melting and refreezing of what

exits from the steps of others resorting to sex

after they've suspected how quickly the

days are sickening. 

BLUR CONCERN WHEN I REIMBURSE

the beefeaters. Data streams won me bruises and blood

often disappearing to bed at five in the morning, spinning again

with an ugh. I'm sure what comes before my shirt reads

mass delusion and media manipulation teaching that

serial killers buy engagement rings. Zoos to choose, 

abuse everyone.

WHAT LEADS TO ME LEADS TO YOU

waking up this morning and thinking my heart has

stopped. Summon the sea and the passengers will be

removed from the trains within our brains. I went to

bed after your heart dropped. Fuck my pussy doctor.

BOW-CHICKA

Sprint back home and make the

Pets crap.

You fuss with live ratings, you can still

Trust the next bump of program content.

A lid in the dirt and my cock underneath that skirt.

It's basic reasoning.

Private jets for every night I'm regular.

Tormentor of movies, of cars and beer.

Half-dead, half-alive, half-dead, half-alive, half-

Dead, half-alive, half-dead, half-alive, half-dead,

Half-alive, half-dead, half-alive, half-dead........

Commercials demand playback and there's

Last year.

The bucket, a cross, fish-feet.

Lid on a cock and clumps of dirt in an asscrack

Underneath your skirt.

My half. My half. My half.

A planet for every jet I've tormented.

Regulator of cars, of beer and privates.

Faith Hill discusses her new fragrance.

Night is every future climate.

Arise to the modern Ku Klux Klan.

Film-dead, film-alive, film-dead, film-alive, film-

Dead, film-alive, film-dead, film-alive, film-dead,

Film-alive, film-dead, film-alive, film-dead........

 

BIODIVERSITY FLOSS

Cokehead dirth.

Infinity accelerating.

My insect-seed bed undresses

Strings to drool.

I like you mixed and matched and lately my own

Radical puritanical.

I remove my baby's heart and eat it to 

Defame muscles after exercise.

Monstrously deformed breasts are high and firm.

The more colorful one is the more colorful the future is.

Spray, shower away: done.

Wear me on a jacket or in your hair.

Great for creating a custom French manicure.

I have to believe in fairy tales and I have to believe in love.

Simulate the marsh extinct in the wild. 

Seppuku due. 

Albert York