pt 1. the inreal
It looks through with a wonky row of carefully stacked electrical grids.
a normal face. a normal face. a normal face.
cat scans. a perused sci-fi book straddles an erased organic chemistry set.
a marry oh brother punk bible tribute (the remix)

blackholes, like childhood, suck back the years. lookit.
this distended indie dissed knee,bends. in intend oh jump rope crunch push go.
regret trembles a finger over the top of the rotary loop, and claws for something
the hourglass belly of a black widow under a rock outside my window
the wriggle through. my waking, ugly rumblings up my throat
the future. "Ul' thars sum banes ontha stove"
a voice vibrating from inside my skull sounds nice to me
a neighbor i remember only a part of me sees as i sneak.
a 45 minute tape clicks after a long quiet empty and i repeat:
a voice vibrating inside my skull sounds nice to me. observe.
me.
pt.2 the real
now. a shifting self conscious weight and a heaviness in the chest
shuffling a vague ache from one shoulder to the other
stucky hair and lumbering up with the sun
a bumby unburning showering brew wide eyed waker
pop a pill and wait an hour later
munch a fried potater
bubble up to a convenient point and fume the flue.
cross culture mastermind my meme thoughts about
you.
pt.3 the unreal
is. missive vitriolic toiling sarcastic soiled sassy pants
pissed mission insists grievous about the fact it exists
kissed myself with implicit winks
and inked electric issues of unfelt integrity
on my slave labor hate tray of gluttonous hurt
onward armour ambles in asinine lyrical ripping steps
blessing self deafening lessons into the sun
hugging nuthin and mushed grumblings