Lollygags My Sweet Crescendo. {Don't Mind If I Do}
Well mouthed know it all rant, blurting perverted fancies.
Must you always talk in backwards outbursts to yourself?
There’s nothing left to tell. Only we can scare ourselves now. I
have invented heart play (murder), such as a sport. Lift this glass stitched
splendid and frankly I’m afraid
{Care To Drag?}
we’d never stop moving. As the Floors fall through us,
let’s keep it slow, and hysterical. I’ll articulate the crushed
tongue with the wind of my gaping search party intrigue, looking for a
good warm time. Past the blush smears and bite marks you go on so deep.
That smile my sweet slumber trophy won’t fool the fame. With such
haunt so still and life like, you’ll be bigger than ever, a staple
for my skeletons to be. Dearest, this dance has lost itself into a drag.
Till we see stars
{No More Tricks, No More Limbs}
all eyes on us simply stunning in burst. I caught you catching
me through the spectacular peep-hole scenery; I constructed to honor you
in. Adore you in. Spoil you in.
There’s nothing quite like enchanting you and it means much more
than the world.
Keep those blank blues bright wide on the smudged shades of thick red,
cruising down your silly look and charm lacked posture just like my, fevered
chuckle and most daring attempt and beauty. My run on design you amaze
this mirrored finale.
Somebody killed just I got my oh.
Swingin' in Satter Lee Grove
There’s a concave where the all air’s been coughed, off with
the birds, while the worms spread out with pointy puckered bombs of butchery
drool.
My axe is a dead mad mans, but I’ll swing it anyway.
My axe is all I know, to shake me overboard and swing about.
There’s a real stiff scene where the coins whore one way streets
down Hudson’s fine dirt dimmed dives, but there’s no place
I’d rather be, in the wheeled chase to the butchery.
My axe is a dead mad mans, the more I swing, the worse we look, going
out with a bang.
The Hangman’s Trampy Daughter, Truth
We must be doomed flashing smiles around sunken in ruin. For sakes of
grandeur and deluge our heavy set eyes gravitate toward everyone zig zagged
through bomb cloud after cloud. See, if we were intended to fly we would
have long been winged Shakespearian novels professing in wondrous greats
our dread of nothing being on its way to anywhere. You’re a ghost
town to me. You’ve got that whole boogey town bug wrapped around
your wind pipe.
I can raise the dead faster than I dropped them. Standing at the edge
of the cliff in your eyes with this shake in my heels I swear I could
breathe you all back to life if everyone lusted me the bamboozling death
fool from my lips spills an overabundance of pompous commentary fit for
the likes of any headless roman statue willing to tell me, I’m no
better than he, after captivating us from space not there into space simply
making up space that we could all just believe to be us. And to think
this is all my doing. The sky that crowned us all lay discarded before
an overly dramatic landscape flashing convulsively. And the whole world
wonders if the whole world is still there.
Retire Happy
Today carried me colorless along the canyons these lonesome boot marks
have dug up over the years.
Oh, gluttony’s shambles there’s not a soul for miles. Yet,
hurry it up I keep telling myself. Faster the fingers, faster the getaway,
faster the stroll comes fit with the whistle that blows the billow tilts
back.
Another high noon will have come and gone so fast you could hogtie a pretty
hostage down in front of it and gawk them greet each other to smithereens.
Too bad the only hourglass of trouble I ever crazed out wouldn’t
have me even if I dug her up and wished her all the heart in the land.
Fuck it I’ll wish anyway and keep the grave as a late summer’s
hideout. Its too dizzying being the last one on feet, say barkeep how
long have you been the swinging doors to an empty saloon. So make this
my last dry umbrella tipped mirage to calm the restless lead curve smoking
over my heavy brim.
Hurry it up I keep telling myself, the cobwebbed piano keys have begun
to tower tall tired me.
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