Charlotte and her nigger
Charlotte and her nigger
walk hand-n-hood smokin Victorian porticos
on the evening of misanthropic cosmos
spun wretched, we waited for the quick
silver to erudite our nostrils
and all things
fate nests with motive, all the stars
drop to the palms of the hot-headed
stars' five points transgrassed
into the fingers of men,
the defunct pentacles shaped earthen.
the hands are effaced with the ambition of stones.
once a million eyes of god
watched our omni partition
on the dusting ground
are now rancid refrigeration, ass-up
and char-infused. the stars' smoke cools
torpid to a pinch of salt
oh silent fart, how were you once
our ethereal watchdog! how could god
have allowed misery and sorrow?!
Charlotte and her nigger talk
about philosophy and politics,
watching the bald city sky.
Fast
bread on the table, coke on the table, pussy on the table
russians under the table
hemorrhaging holes bleed with dismay, first nubile, then
encarcerated rotten. the flag struck in new land
and over whose country is undulated flatulating,
on national pride parade, with extra tip hotdogs to fill the only other
american existential hole—hunger
The sick presses with veins,
a dumb, a thankless rod that overgrew in hedonism and excess,
the ass, a round, useless piece of pig, the breasts a milk jug,
the pussy embrace is uneffable, and holds with both hands and legs,
trying not to fall off the branch.
le monde
i'm dying of cancer, fuck me everyday,
in thankful gratuitous,
already corpses season in oil
and reluctantly scratch, as if silent sand grains laen,
little peppers and salts, while time slowly wanes.
there, thankfullyreproach death as is comes to
us like an unexpected lady, so dressed in red vellum
and big-breasted tires;
rims cleavage; trunk filled with unholy spirit.
The thank is
forgetten fast by the begotten careless children,
so out of pure soul thank strikes a man dead upon his soul, in
guilt.
The thank has been forgotten like
glasses of water drank
count them.
Now I laud the peculiar thanks of the liar
who makes his money off thanks
and also of the poet who is also a liar and has never been to mexico and has never read a book straight through, with lines continuous. The tangent glides off the calculator raw and uneven
there you can microcosm its little universe and smart brain
you are nothing without your counting machines. I smell rec
dubious heart pumping in my chest like a hamster wheel
and diminutive function. i love the mitigate of the heart's mind--me, full brained and bodied.
Your full brains and bodies. you and i,
both vexing grammar making choices ostentatiously
then running ostriches into the ground.
if i were to die fast and
tepid among the foliage of my keybord and ink
we can never thank enough people
who have desecrated our life with blunt knived experience and tragedy
more woes and rues than the Greek Festival.
the lump in my brain is its own heart. i haven't seen the doctor yet.
humanity may or may not stop
battery endings and low warning signs
le monde will seance to exist after each individual rotation
Charlotte and her nigger
walk hand-n-hood smokin Victorian porticos
on the evening of misanthropic cosmos
spun wretched, we waited for the quick
silver to erudite our nostrils
and all things
fate nests with motive, all the stars
drop to the palms of the hot-headed
stars' five points transgrassed
into the fingers of men,
the defunct pentacles shaped earthen.
the hands are effaced with the ambition of stones.
once a million eyes of god
watched our omni partition
on the dusting ground
are now rancid refrigeration, ass-up
and char-infused. the stars' smoke cools
torpid to a pinch of salt
oh silent fart, how were you once
our ethereal watchdog! how could god
have allowed misery and sorrow?!
Charlotte and her nigger talk
about philosophy and politics,
watching the bald city sky.
Fast
bread on the table, coke on the table, pussy on the table
russians under the table
hemorrhaging holes bleed with dismay, first nubile, then
encarcerated rotten. the flag struck in new land
and over whose country is undulated flatulating,
on national pride parade, with extra tip hotdogs to fill the only other
american existential hole—hunger
The sick presses with veins,
a dumb, a thankless rod that overgrew in hedonism and excess,
the ass, a round, useless piece of pig, the breasts a milk jug,
the pussy embrace is uneffable, and holds with both hands and legs,
trying not to fall off the branch.
le monde
i'm dying of cancer, fuck me everyday,
in thankful gratuitous,
already corpses season in oil
and reluctantly scratch, as if silent sand grains laen,
little peppers and salts, while time slowly wanes.
there, thankfullyreproach death as is comes to
us like an unexpected lady, so dressed in red vellum
and big-breasted tires;
rims cleavage; trunk filled with unholy spirit.
The thank is
forgetten fast by the begotten careless children,
so out of pure soul thank strikes a man dead upon his soul, in
guilt.
The thank has been forgotten like
glasses of water drank
count them.
Now I laud the peculiar thanks of the liar
who makes his money off thanks
and also of the poet who is also a liar and has never been to mexico and has never read a book straight through, with lines continuous. The tangent glides off the calculator raw and uneven
there you can microcosm its little universe and smart brain
you are nothing without your counting machines. I smell rec
dubious heart pumping in my chest like a hamster wheel
and diminutive function. i love the mitigate of the heart's mind--me, full brained and bodied.
Your full brains and bodies. you and i,
both vexing grammar making choices ostentatiously
then running ostriches into the ground.
if i were to die fast and
tepid among the foliage of my keybord and ink
we can never thank enough people
who have desecrated our life with blunt knived experience and tragedy
more woes and rues than the Greek Festival.
the lump in my brain is its own heart. i haven't seen the doctor yet.
humanity may or may not stop
battery endings and low warning signs
le monde will seance to exist after each individual rotation
