prefiguring echo
coming up forward locking unlocking slip lash fling
fat fad fade it's often like that
Can underwear be clung? My purr gongs
and if that is not enough capitalizes
more'n spying we wish klunk winks
grapes figuring molded until not looking not looking
heroic acts left in the weigh slide
expanded pictures from a hilpementer's pristelimiterist:
' No, I want be known as an inhuman monster.?
ok that's not ok nor enough
hung up id was trill space not agone
and then
thrump! solid hit makeshift stir
blame glided spinster
Unability, due to makeshift dangles
grimaceshire stick figured down
ramp to crush ore it rag back dreamt out
furnaced it hung
RUUUhureitITH! I geebeeb
no common intelligible sound
causeway junket a kind of spammish
he said No way, and sneered and
jumped the jalopy swung
In punging, lipped to the other side
having lost my flow i offered
coming up backwards frog pipsqueak
Island of Thin Arms and
Sturdy Legs
Is that you? Master precaution.
Arousal is all uphill from here. Huh?
This is a lip, swollen like canvas, like
The unexpected foot of a French peddler.
I will set in, finally, in earnest with the
sea.
Bad alignment expression stunned cave cardinal.
It is a cave, but you cannot tell it so. It
Is a secret, it is, but everybody knows that.
A torrential hidden road is immaterial pulse
But characteristic product. Foot, other foot. Island.
Nothing situated. Past present future...
Coastline slaves declare a razor a rest of doubt.
That is a mountain, this is the sea. Is that
You? You've mastered precaution. Peds.
Dictation prison break. Silly hat. Is that
you?
Sheets and Butterflies
(A Remake of Wallace Stevens)
Nurturant images first, naive avaian hunches
but the domicile ne comprende, there is no start.
Fetch the lavender that says, absent female,
no marriage,
so, outbid who? so, no location,
where, hacker, playa, fighter, b-boy,
where is sun and beat and super cute lovin
for hollering for language abysmal?
this disformed and lusty half-place crudely carven
of sludge. . . ain't gonna happen that the
moon
bleep this with its chicken-wang mixes.
She must come now. Nurture/nature is wasted.
Waves babies. If you stand in this line be ready to
wed, enjoy first awakening, yearn vocal
and tactile HER, yearn to discourse as follows,
"The fly
on the flowery thing stops us, season
overpassing summer, goast of smell falling
and doing, go away, paled and posted, with
big flowers.
Meanwhile it's pretty dumb & chintzy these sounds.
