home tunnel game approaching all get-out 



fried            afternoon fright            great wing of gulls

as a clump of eyes

in the mail

            sadness of cubes

rejected their networking lens,

            nevertheless their reflex worlds

that meet & part amber

            in the sky & one grey of waves

hailing & hatting st kilda,

            remembered people,

an article about creamed face

head included

followed by reactionary tears

where eaters live
lay down 46 times in a world gone mad

to no avail, the lack of cost

evidence of how stupid
one had been, kissing

            & kissing in the moonlight as ELWOOD

rose from sea at end

            squint into lighthouse

then drive to park where gods

are their hatred of us, & us ourselves

treading down the light grass

& asseverating turgid inanities

we who wrote for nothing but

            those planted kidneys & rich,

spastic babies, their lines of flight

            a bible for airports

inflating a canopy to catch the souls of tars



hush! echo speaks!



it is a long fermata

smarting under the patina the

same nothing can feel

up a question about method:
you wrote at key points,

basically generated in bits

of other heads

struggling to work off

the planet of our letters
rafting now, between rats

w/ tiny hammers being

mind in the fountains.

the leaves sing: i’m glad

we’re beggars squirting cologne,

drawing this volatile burden,

glueing models. we never close.
there are a number of updates

from around the world.

in the mountains rainbow crows

tear up a book by doctor

justice. a paean to ato notes

weeping agents lacking

evidence. ask about our new

distant fantasies, suck the

energy of ghosts, important

hero found in moist syntax.

trade like its the 90s! i

work w/ data/children,

unexamined tasks. lift imp

ortant: hard clear sad cubes

turned up. betimes fire part

icles at trunk, cop missile.

look the window i’m vomiting
nevertheless the duplex world

rose from the emulsion sea

to reject clump of eyes and mail

in a looped story of net work forgiveness.
the business partner’s

random numb legs

	encapsulate destruction

	embrace death

he uses this kind of locution:

—i am a useless artist—



dropped digger’s rest implant shipment cargo cult



clam hands not for victory of public

sin taste rank wounds w/o dreams

instead i ask your bed: did

you get the anxiety? V exciting

like vice and coma in time

for crisis. tell the story of this truck

gliding into gleaming moistness.

then sad part in her curls sees crime’s

chipped tooth gnawing concrete

bust. my sterile catkin lay

down 46 times, blown

off by the world of insurance

broker coveting soiled report

of widely distributed friend.

it is not a friendship of grey

st kilda gulls, because deadlocked.

i mean to the atrophy cabinet.

behemoth films often considered

important suck wounded cones

of the dead. hollow boredom

applauded, then discarded.
                       this is only a surmise.

lying alone, godless, a whopping

tube of spirit slime branded

by the unmanifest after storm, more

nothing. graph suggest i’m building

bomb. but i’ve no way to verify this.

how long can we let

the “mummies” fuck us

                      up? spin wheels in

                      pure and formless

                      mud for levitation.