Wednesday 1 July 2009
It's never too late for coffee.
Bug bite smears in the yellow electric light. Frightened teeth licked by poison ivy into alligator shapes. Animate them in the night. I have a problem with food.
Samplers skip through a tape deck and a candle wax covered polaroid. Disease manifested in the latino guitar string,so lonely. Without drugs to speed the thoughts.
Clipped,ripped,and cooked angel wings-the smell of purity. And feathers. A railroad track made of stretched human muscles. Into a sunset crackles and sizzles the sinuous trail. Do I use words too much?
A lonely blues singer unromantically fumbles for the car key slot behind a closed quiet bar. Gravel crunching need to urinate and no longer drunk. Bug bite smears in the yellow electric light.
An imaginary coloring book dropped in the deep end of a swimming pool. Self-inflicted wounds, like sugar bears mounded with spoonfuls of laughter and jailed time.
Pornographic staged footsteps tiptoe in opposite directions like bookends. Emptiness ripped and cooked blank pages-the smell of purity. The lack of ink and hard work ripples a soft bald man's belly by a swimming pool.
Routine's fingers thump a beat that feels good at the time. But sometimes it does no good. Playing hookie for snoozed weight of musty shoulder straps. The bending train ripples on the track.
Apathy. It isn't destroyed by coffee. Baby flashing lights for salivating bells. Black fire through the rest:
Ashes pancreas answers manuals whitened temples. The ground is sour and manifests willful pinions. Systematic rifles fire banshees and sandscript derisions into weiner camped planets. What a wonderous bubble of tumors. Thumping the frozen lake. Anxiety has a pant leg in the screenwriter's window. Pulled music drips figurative shadows on a sketch of a thought. Aspirin white and thinned hugs pass into oblivion along with repeatedly uttered words. Tomorrow and then another and then, oh no. It all happened,nothing so fast and then. The cover of that magazine in the grocery store. She's been part of your life.
The very act of calling it art. The boar dollops,the gum drops,the dinosaur. The lightning bolt. The wrinkled tear. A happy banana.
Dismissed from the dinner table. I have a problem with food.
WHAT WILL YOU DO?
If you think you think you should heed the warning of your mother and sister and not risk uncertain sorcery,turn to page 25
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