Sasha was paramount. Her tubuculosis transformed as its energies passed through her body. Intercepted by emotive being. She wanted to dedicate herself to a role which created in her a sense of what she thought the word catharsis meant. Sasha decided she should become a being of violence. For according to her education, there was much demand for beings of violence. And despite their cruelties, there was much to be loved about them. What sasha did not realize was that she would have to make adjustments to her own emotive reactions to external stimulus. When first attempting a violent act, Sasha found a beatle that had fallen asleep the night before under her eyelid. It was the size of an apple and the color of a plant. She let it walk on her finger into a plastic bucket.
the beetle was what sasha remembered. Tubucular and prostrate. Her mother wailed. A beautiful sincere sound. her mother was beautoiful in sadness. Beings like that have an evil inside of them, somewhere. A face that is beautiful when happy promotes the propogation of happiness. some may wonder whether the true Christ arose out of the tomb. I seems natural for a gentle Christ to become an old testament god after being so scarred and forsaken. It is the natural order. As such a paradox it would seem distinguished from other stories and texts, thereby seeming to be final. Somehow, I weep. Christ come to kiss me last night. His eyes so angry and his cock so soft. He had no idea I only wanted to hold his wrist and loop my finger through the hole in his palms he did not know how I wanted to love him and if he did he would not know how I wanted to be loved But I would have been happy to hold him. Anyplace. I think about him very hard hoping to dream but I havenot learned to sleep yet.
ruthie come with my willowy gut. I have a very small hope in her gut. What is it that allows it to steam with such sweet thoughts. What is it that warms my memory and ties my robotic heart to heavy weights. I have never seen you, ruthie. I paint your face onto things that will never be found.
My robotic mind is wet from your piss and you were cracked gently on my rim your shell was split. crowl inside me and stay. please stay. stay until the lights go out and the television breaks. stay where I can feel you and say nothing.
the dark rots and sweats. its pieces fuck and sing and try to crawl under the wax of my ears. the clock ticks incessant and inevitable while the earth seems to be somewhere very near.
hello. hello. hello. hello. hello. hello. hello. hello. hello.
Will it take me when I die? To a place built of clean red bricks and a turquoise sky? Will I be able to bathe? Soak? Sud? Will Christ come to clean me? My soft white ankles? Will I bear his child? Will he grow within me, soft and new?
What a monster these men’s god has become. I sense an orbit beyond the fabric of time mama call the sue-sigh ive considered my other effigies but never a wooden wolly wimble clearer the willow blues the pillow denter every little tit calls doo-doo when I cry I am the only lover cause I live inside my brain I am the only plumber because I sue the day I warpend shine the wood grows out of the ground my house grows out of the ground if my show was really made of trees Id fuck it fuck it skin is round and shining I cry not willingly my blood bumps hidden beneath my shining skin
spud riddled earth, clove ridden concrelous birth spot when my skin lay sticky I throat aluminate,
but the truth is a skeleton the lie starves itself till it looks like. its enamel dissolved by digestive acid. I have a heart like wood. That will never rot because it grows. My chest aches as it grows as it grows my heart is it is a chin as it grows here my heart an opinion of vomit and wood I shall beneath birth the channel surface a vision covered wagon vision of the covered wagon winsome tin roof top winsome leather pouch.
sudden death inside the plank I sliver I sliver I have two bones growing in my eye sockets that I love because I see them piece by piece by piece by piece. love love love love love
Closer to your chest. My electronic love burns your skin to a soft red where my weight has pressed against your white bones and shivering breath. I reach out to hold your hairless thighs but you were never there in the first you were only here to swallow what you couldn’t fit in your ass.
I am the treeless feather, papa. I got bricks for bones and a little leopard llama that get washed in the driveway by a boy down the street named leonard Bernstein. His thighs are strong papa. He would walk far to get to my driveway. He walk like a root grow. He walk like suffrage and craw. Like Schill. Leonard Bernstein grasp my wrist one day while I pet my Leopard Llama. Little Leonard Bernstein with eyes like piss and the bone tight in his chest of tin and water.
Sound like I grip his other hand, don’t it Papa? Sound like the skin I touch his hand with touch the skin on top of his hand and his brain feel me but I’m just breathing and my robotic stomach slowly twitches and my robotic heart clenches and relax and clench and relax and clench and relax and clench and relax and clench and relax and the black dark give way to the light old white chit that mint got no weight or gleam.
My brain is filled with teeth, papa. My brain bite at what? My brain?
I regroup. I fuck at what may be a god. I clench and relax.
I have only the shimmer of mother fuck to sing. Of my life climbing bullshit. Put my dick in the mailbox stamped heavy to reach the Radial Lotusses. My dick in the mailbox with the bottle rocket. Let my brain dry in the sun’s view till I harden like a fossil.
I am a chamber potter I bleed through my lungs and my long throat. I curse you with my hairy toes.
‘Did you ever breathe without the sun?’
‘No ma’am, you listen while your pussy drip into your socks’
‘You cannot see through my invisible shimmy. My allergies cause the light to bend, shawn-ass. Smooth as Samuel’s gums as the wet brick on Samalia’s new year. I cry into the surlock’s dreams and die a death befitting a fuck.
fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then fuck me then burn me then wash me then climb alone in a tree with agnostic dollops I wither alone like a Jesuit they call like a willowy lawn, I have we inside of the body of lammox I only smell the end without end I cannot root like Dinah Looker that one who look so nice.
I fought your dog when it tried to get pretty. When it rolled all pretty in the hooker’s brain. When it drowned in the music. I renamed your dog Sally. Little bitch dog’s name. That’s why your dog scared to fuck in the driveway. Cause it know its name is Sally little bitch.
Out its ass come the sun in a crown of golden light to bleach out the night. Out its ass the leather skin. Wrap its fingers so the wind can’s skin it. So the wind aint got teeth like gram gram Jefferson.
Shit he like a dead lady’s instalatory vaj. Widow’s fart ail me and wind me (my car aint fast enough for my dick)
I am the gorilla man, toe stepping fool from the sex dreams of brimming ham, keeper of the lemon cake. I spit out the window but I beat off all alone. I got windows but aint none for free it’s a fire that pull the wood up into the sky. Skirt Shank, millionaire’s hairless womb.
full of slick worms feeding through osmosis feeding off the stone grow false out the little one, bottle pool’s the game we play. Light up the brick cause we too lazy to see.
Lazy as gunga din, all comes out like a large fish egg in pebbles. Under the pebbles sits the moon.
I dig with bloody fingers, skin sore from the rays of dawn. Hands stop working so dig with my teeth. Teeth wear out so I hire the neighbor’s boy and he brings a shovel, hands calloused from the smooth wood’s skin.
I don’t speak, aint nothing in my head know the shifts in the world’s motivation or its filmy pubbles. Nothing but the buttered moon deep under the pebbles. I got gorilla skin. See in my eyes the stars stole from the sky. I get shivers in the wind like I aint. behind the wall is air and the black
shoo shoo shoo the whole hotel pryed out with shovels and left in wrinkles with the electric and the fire dream of the elephant child and dream the one or two that giggle when the water get dark the food is full of metal flakes it helps my lungs pry the air and the cloud or the thousand jagged particles like shattered stars. Leonard Bernstein tells me I smell like oil and I get salivated and wrinkle like the hotel pried out in the parking lot the meat of the fruit pried out the fleshy old gums of the neighbors the sky gets white as paper and I can see to the bottom of the swimming pool the churning pile of the ecstatic dead dug out the earth with his fingernails and pocket knife he found in the mud.
shoo shoo and the wall in the yello of the wall chiseled like a suffer stones green dried mud fat as the poor dog the meaty tit no the poor dog that stared at the traffic guard the place you left with its raised head with its head on its stiff neck that’s a boy the boys black tar huffed in the middle school’s only alley fishing in the goose pond with its green furry squirts and its cruel geese and their hatred of children and pregnant women and the legends we made of the wide pines and their flaky orange scabs
and the fried chicken on the picnic tables.
slick shiver in sloppy shimmer slipper come jimmy come jimmy come jimmy come on all the little livers dive strait in their fifty little livers carousel from the tops of the sappy pines to the open mouth of the goose pond and its soft sloppy shores fall there like a lemonadier
shoosh he listen through the telephone put your hand where it looks like youre in a pornography the window mirrored through the dark panelouphant the wisely hair treated green bean the foot of the trough light as the dear dill and the silly.