broken rocks tick in us

brocken rock-tics

in us and out us

and around us

and picture the light to us

the pills, pils of a light

hammering onto the mould

inside us. how can i still be slinking around everyday life

and the grey music of tyres that grind earth

little, known dreams

of increasingly middle aged teenagers

glowing like life in a plant

though i get the impression there are new jobs and robots

the turrets of what is most possible

to keep off the cesspool of endlessness

in a forest of walls

and turn it into a delimited duck penis nevertheless

presumed to be infinitely extendable

but this is only one ‘me’s lazy decision

who pronouncements the stations

pronoun cements

propped on a shouldercake

and dreams of pain, dreams of shut up sobs

real dreams across deltas of flights

real shoulders to the fire

the greenness crumpling

spring waiting to come back in the head

or maybe not terrifyingly

blue sssssssss, fundamentally

angry lines of speed avoidant

with the red turned around /

breathing for awhile

breathing withor extracting the echoes

on some profit jag

oh yes, pronouncing them

this that and the other

as though ‘exploded hand’

whirred acceptable side-effects

tolerably racked

passively christ-crushing

just to stroll hurriedly

panic struck in the dryer swamp

commercial for water shock circus

between the skeletons of hazzard

drawn across freezing water

by the skulls of streets and bones

grinning ringtone of bone drawn

in desert root tomato cancer

left off, unheld

bizarre heroic actor-breath

pushing father on population

dream where you cut macron

population dream where you

dream where you cut

macron’s dream where you

cut macron’s population dream

by cutting macron’s dream

dream where you cut, cut where you dream

for a macron, for an accent, for a grave

for an indefinite duration of existing, people the on where you

cut and dream