Sunday, May 27, 2012
somebody snuck into my house while i was locked in sleep. i know what they were trying to know. it's where i do research. at my job, there is research far in a lobby of ours. am quite simple as a rod of will thru the jelly, which doesn't stay put. i quit my job. i haven't stuck my hand out to light the stove to burn my money work. but i will. still eat it or patch it up to eat. repair my eater and my fuel container. take sips from it. boy or girl. down the street. who's your husband. tryer.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
the art has typos in it.
what it means flashes across its forehead.
typos hanging from the ceiling
of a gorgeous former bowling alley.
a story dragging on the floor.
the age of my skin wells me up
when my shower beads on it.
someone is swimming out of the
moisture in the air towards me.
this storm of green is going to
belch me out into a unguardable position
and only later will violence find me.
typing more wrong more often.
crittering on the roadside
wondering what a road is
and where it comes from.