Current Update

By | 25 November 2019

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

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