Saturday, March 12, 2011

PRISON DATE RAPE

glass of lemonade in red clown lipstick
the housewife making the roofer named Ellis restless in the pneumatic backyard pool
a daily family clich̩ Рhell freezing over is meant to be a musical experience after all
the earth’s core is doing multiple quads
I find it tasteless
the clouds forcing an erection
all her work, including her sleepy pout, stolen by the spirit in the cotton wool
it loves good – is good at loving – but it is also responsible for Moscow’s leggings making a fool of themselves in Don Draper’s infomercial
a small dollop of sour cream on his neon green baldspot determines the creative director’s altitude in the scheme of things
and then this happened: a laundry haircut
back from the dead to this hotel – a hypothalamus in the basement as big as the Ritz, stroked lecherously by the janitor, stoically sought after by vendors circa 1920, its bristles raising like shining daggers all across its fine chamois hide
like a spark, the stress of daily living kisses everyone, its own airplane papercraft used for pleasure by viruses in test-drive frenzies
this reproductive frap placed down on the counter before me by the attractive girl
my eyes are like antique dog parks
they return the same inkling: the cracked, burnt, sort of charming, humus image of what our children would look like

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