that comical moment when you receive a rejection letter for a poem you forgot writing and submitting.
all knuckles/ swimming pools juniper milestone
I try to rewind
the void in which I picture
stroking the life
given to me
by some hand
bares no resemblance
to any lover
I have tasted,
nor any lover
I could ever taste,
in any lifetime,
infinite comfort of blankness,
sweet unknown hole,
empty of all,
an orgasm during
my organism vanishes,
with out a sound,
with our a trace.
a rats nest rests on my head,
Soviet spies hide beneath my knots,
I am called curls,
by an older black woman,
it always puts a smile
on my white face,
don’t ask me what means in terms of
social identity via pigmentation,
I am not as smart as
most of the authors
that I have read,
take it as it comes,
which makes me yearn
for clippers and a razor,
ventilate brain shafts,
keep head cool and moist,
my hands get tangled and bitten,
wasps hide out ready to plunge stingers deep,
into my hands,
thus ruining the day for me,
I always say tomorrow
but what I mean
High school janitors
the opera isn’t doing so good,
dropping calls and hanging up on itself,
yesterday I saw it nitpicking the stockings of Ronald Reagan,
but that isn’t a shocker,
he was dressed as Ronald McDonald in the midst of a myth binge,
we’ve all been there at least thrice times before,
no other way to truly enjoy the parking lots of this countries,
vast sprawling Walmart landscape,
a great place to lose time and gain weight,
lose teeth and gain pain,
oh shit I’m rhyming again,
cutting it out,
isn’t so simple these days,
since the opera won’t say yes to a date,
why does the opera hesitate,
are I not man enough,
for the fat lady to sing?
misstessmer replied to your post: Static Dandruff Birds Scheme For Nachos Juice Riot
“scavenging the cathedral for some nutmeg” —> I mean that’s obviously what you do in a cathedral ;) Love that line!
thanks. I don’t know why that line popped in my head this morning, but I am glad it did.
scavenging the cathedral for some nutmeg,
I pump my tires full of stately static,
a sure fire way to spread dandruff on your enemies.
how hard is it to not clog a toilet?
for shame I ponder on the door to pine tree forest,
dragging the dust with my shoe into the grand scheme of things,
as if nothing could get worse than sleeping on cold nachos during a riot,
like wearing her nightie to a wedding of dead things.
my back won’t straighten,
no matter how hard I scream at the birds lounging in the juice bar,
guess I’ll just have to see the gypsy hooker about a used Volvo.
there really is no meaning behind it. no story. It’s not a nickname of mine. just a ridiculous name for a ridiculous blog.
if this boredom
doesn’t kill me,
a bush league decade
no seasons just torment
I drink with Jesus
experimental rang ears/ dollop of mediocre fibs
thank you and just as a reminder:
I take questions like a out of work porn star looking for money.
kinks oblong cameras womb-bot/ fudge deterring quite
I want to go home,
but my legs are sticky
from Earths floundering
please send me waffles
so I can make a raft,
and sail transcendentally
to the blooming vagina
of the warmest bed.