OFFENSIVE MOLE

the abyss

made an impression - wobbly lines in a blender - but

I froze my yoga on account of a wooden leg. It wasn't

my wooden leg,

and what it had stepped in wasn't

dogshit –

it looked kinda

hirsute -

not my swath of WASP in a hammock

Inspector Gadget meets corduroy Haute Cuisine is more

current,

outtake from a faux horror documentary

impacted its contours

which

piqued my interest

circus contraption squeak

henceforth figuratively a lonely ninja star wheeling above

the trees

corporeally the grimace of a

ventriloquized Vespa

when last did umbrellas have their own religion?

how long have the Ten Commandments been marinating

in diesel?

your intuitions are weird, naked swimming -

me, I was

fucking

SHY, man - the pale kid telling the ratchet exactly how much it sucked

the glaucus pallor of my shoulders: from bad to worse

I longed to be in Abortion Heaven deep

in its gauzy considerations

the angels

playing fetch with the nerve cells of a huge ten-toed mole

WELLINGTONS

how do you look underneath, coke pastie?

what colorful wart-roots, flagella, wires and stringlets hang and writhe from your equatorial saucer?

Joseph Conrad called you the catalyst behind the caterpillar sailor/writer's evolution into a sleek, shimmering hyphen

did you sprout the burp of sainthood

as accidentally marked/branded/boxed/exported/anally

smuggled/plagiarized/ripped off/and

finally canonized country-western lyric?

oh, the passage of its distillery – pock-marked pirates Autotune-chewing;

they've kindly assisted Molly's fusion with marshmallows;

philosophic pagans in penile smoking jackets –

pretty sure this scene was killed by a mattress

did Hemingway say math isn't fun if you employ Haitian dinner etiquette?

without a coke pastie on his neck, he was just a meathead misreading smoke signals, a sneezing coughing hawking

smart-ass aberration

kudos to fucktard citizen Freeze Pops! 
 

me, I can sit for 8 hours straight in futile argument with my environment;

I see everything boredly, because my irises are unmanned;

my soul wants to audition for a part as fractal in the time-lapse pirouette;

it is so sluggish because I am the co-founder of mud

designer of the 8-bit Wellington Gumboot battlegame

THE WHERETO STEERING WHEEL

the enamel cuticle of the famous sock puppet

the odd green glow of survival 

survival of the gesture (of the bird, etc) of the obscene horizon-scanning sun-in-eyes post-T-off golf stance 

such things last right into drug abuse and boredom -

into acquaintance with the soft depression

of Feral Miss Piggy's tasseled terminal

a not OK request of the imagination -

breeding ogles under the hedgehog visor

you'll know it when a choir of predators goes on snog gear

speak easy bullet point mastication

what shit went down last night behind the bottles

in the mirror of the bar?

listen here, wifey - wearing garters strung from the radioactive cat-gut of male fantasies is one thing - but why would you be so shameless as to claim the reality tv freak asteroid jacuzzi splotch was meant as a fucking joke?

tonight I'm begging you, oh crinkled Lottery Ticket

I don't care as rapacious meme as lucky charm aspirin

together as a fresh pair of microwavable

women's WWF

galactic M&Ms transmitters

licking the Whereto Steering Wheel

SPOILING THE GLAMOR OF GRUBBS

On the terrace I took the olive from her hand and drank it down

with a sip of Simone's auburn hair -

The dark sweetens the flashlight pulpy. Luminary of the

rich couple at the next table's Cocker Spaniel's wingnut unconscious –

their relationship's most famous and exemplary braincell

bowing to the poetic acne of the bellhop's typewriter

That's why you grope around in the dark, babe. That's why

the luggage racks are being so adorable. She and I vanish behind

the eyelid of the hotel, and on the electric stove burner, Kabbalah

is smoking hot

We both concede that we can just feel the ocean itching to breathe

$4 COYOTE

collide her coffee. chasing the sunburnt

handmade barefoot now. cheapskate bunnies split-mauling

into

Holographic

stiffed

on

unicorns

Jung is harassing me. daydreams rinse with extinction

fluoride chokers

boarded up Dementors. mourn me old piece

of

furniture

run with us room-temperature. charm my own bed

can

sleep

after

Rapture

pop in and aggregate

DETROIT HAS A CANCER

distressed knit husk, effloresces RoboCop syndrome

are these tropes lords of reality murder tv?

the flint’s new high-def gaslamp snuff,

blogging and sensation trickling upward from its ruins

the lucky knives of the renaissance, are

the beaks of suicide crows leaving

trackmarks on geological streaming

as of now I am no longer ashamed, at

the handyman’s toilet skidmarks 

my body’s entropy still beeps if

I twist in the cryptogram tunic

aluminum alloy stilts, of

the very gangster pancreas;

I want to instead propose remodeling this crime-fighting apparatus after

the Parisian dandy

PREDATOR – ANOTHER MUTATION

perfect birthday dinner autolysis

pain of a light saber’s very own bifurcation

barograph presiding over depth of pathos

the mulch staunches toy soldiers like Adrien Brody’s Petri dish

perm-shadows amped in Dragon Age 2 celluloid

track down original craw pip (its atom squeal)

connatural Edith Piaf coupe (the free hair of speech)

sadness batter spit (free sight from mud)

hopscotch thumb-drives curd (lameness)

lily-shaped gunning down (beauty and nature flirts with eighties kitsch)