Grow your disposal

Chastity smell

In a room
Rectangle air
Allowed
Breathing there
Fantaseize

 

 

 

 

 

 

UNCLANG

 

I would like never to be obscure. I understand why I was: explaining is a bore, and
flattens lang, so, it takes experience to write a real poem that is well-lit. Which is not the same as clear

 

drinking water from a jar, old
babydoll in bed. Broke and well-fed.

Lying here is great, I said,
you are not, nowhere, stay yup alnight. You sunshine bleat.

I coulda moved to ______ moved to ________. My more glamorous avatar did,
she willy did, but when she was there, lookout, she looked in her pocketbook at the mirror
in the snapshut clamshell, the mirror was distwatted
curved along the shell wall. A weirdo pronunciation from New Ywok,
distwatted. That’s just dis toy bin and it’s more exciting than the fucking infernet. Writing a poem is like reaching two prosthetic limbs out as far as you can on either side to
grab something in front of you. You can’t grab it but maybe you’ll take flight. That is bogus, I’m not trying to grab anything in front of me when I write a poem. GET that kitty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ARRIVED DETACHING TOWARD THE UNION.

 

 

If recombinatory guises suit you, prosody whore, make them do/be us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MAKE A MACHINE FOR MASTERING SELF

 

 

 

 

Grow your disposal

Chastity smell

In a room
Rectangle air
Allowed
Breathing there
Fantaseize

Lay down
Your cherry bright

You know how to make an asshole
With your fingers touching?
That’s cherry-picking stance

The room is detachable pod
Walk it into disposal
Find the room in terror
In terror or terroir

Filter green
The color made by birds
Under time
They cull it from the aerie

Feel like
A terror maestra
See the cloud bear cherries
Oh my God
Let’s get merried

 

 

 

 

 

 

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