Friday, December 16, 2011


sneezing on ghost town dust
on a nostalgic, Weekend at Bernie's-type casket ride

moving from gear 1 to gear 2 = crunching birdseed

kamikaze through segments of emotional trampoline –
half sandwich, half hobo; and the rain,
old taps = wind chimes in disguise

boxes on boxes of loneliness

when the baggage handler was
on the cusp of pinging his girlfriend with a brass nail
he'd mutated into a tuning fork / in deep meditation after
splitting his nail on a lock – & now it rings forever

before, life was an elaborate amoeba
in a mask, looking intrusive on a cookie tray
stacked high with cotton; i.e. our cavities didn't relay echoes

before, jerking off to a screensaver compiled by organ donors
was a suitable substitute

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