Fermented undergarments
farmers markets, Targets, turn tarnish!
An angle of self-righteousness moves to left.
.
a group of cleft palates peel all the way back for the attic
after a thousand years of theft. (Arent you in awe?)
when hairless hands wrap and grab Tef – lon
get on one of the seven horses.
Hercules the matter seems urgent
Please
create morses.
.
Your Torsos show their bland position
portable valves, three of horse pistons.
so if they want violence, they certainly will achieve.
shout above the crowd and call for former foreigners – roll up sleeves.
in the white and black reality  
we flee once we believe
.
but perfection is a perspective
the artist is just an elective and a given
IN GETTING BITTEN BY THE SOCIAL TAPE WORM –
we let the world squirm  -
and turn
tighter in silky cob webs
the spider traps and they took laps
‘til the insect bled out

Oh
The left hand.
One I use when my strength and trust has retired
Lays upon a lightly laced (cloth)
Disembarc of the covenant.

Lick the place that my hand lays
On.
I
Humanly wrong
Make gong out of the chaotic amount
Noisy bloods hitting the walls on it's way out to the rest of her vessel.

She can make what is mine hers.
She can make the mind like purse.
So she speaks.

My want move the weak hand reach.
So this something can compete with
And maybe even complete sweet.

**** self made namesake peach.
Stir & heat with onions
And wash the perceptive pounds I
POUND
These tons now neat your Golden ratio
To be betrayed and be peated

what a shame it is
i dont know a ******* thing
about you mama

Get up and dance  
Put on those moccasins that make you move from out in France 
Into the Indies then Polynesian isles.
Pour the green skies upon those frozen and dried out. 
Bring gratitude to those whom frequently pout 
And the mission to gain commission
How the mantras from mamas mouth 

Shoot from the sky.
So sly the way we will slip into the nostalgic reminisce 
Lights on the red carpet 
And the set of lies 
Are we doing this? 

We don't mention How Buddha ******. 
Budapest in the name of the most auromatheraputic 
And orginally  
tell the Chinese nike labourers  
who do this. 

Though they suit me, 
I resuit this with prudent force for those law benders 
Of the b.a.r.
We will cough on tough tycoons and yet bow to stars. 

Oh my legend, how far have we looked and have we come 
Jumping out of the Nintendo Nes(t)
We have entertained our self enough  
We've won son.

But find me lagging on a wooden broom 
Brimming on the outskirts of your psyche 
Just when you thought 
Sike you didn't not cite me.

Please bibliograph my flight plan or pattern 
And as you gaze upon the moon I make my second meander on Saturn 
The orbit 

In finding sudden satisfaction with norbit 
I've asked. How bliss is ignorance? 
We blend all the blinding lights of the prism and still white and **** 
Siss 

Disdain on dose dat ain't domestic 
Still ******* kicking and 
My legs are there to test this 

Theory 
and jeering with slack 
I'm looking back. 
I fear the peers of tired whites and blacks 

Those that act that they have nothing to loose 
By continually hitting the snooze 
Oh we will leave you like leaves grounded in the grooves 

These four leaf clues 
Clovers, slipping out of my palms 
Mark you like wolverines claws 
Like jar heads
Jumpin in to the jabber jagged jaw of jaws 

Subservient marine. 
Prate in the truth of those words until you(they) know just what they mean. 
Ya seen? 
Good?

To shake dust from my pretty
child
i must mystify minds while, molding
pre-paved tile patios:
give the sheep’s pen a four wall construct
A-RISE above the morphic
and bellow, to comfort the feet.

Im stabbing quarters into my activation plate’s extra exhaust
to ignite something.
Spit some carbon –

Manic moments, move a myles like me to the metaphysical mirror.
And it is not this one that reflects,
but to the duties my appendages embody i –
lack expects.
Do due – Respect.
to this Chthonian carriages; my dermis quite the copy cat.

to say the body is made in the images
of a cosmic titan is overly abstract.
The big bang was an aftermath of a flatline,

“so whatchur telling me is that even the void gets tired?” (it says)

my guilt was relieved of its cage and given
new duties.

Project itself on a man with open eyes
searching for answers.
Close that third mind and let them
truths seep from the almost always
clogged sinuses.
Snore even.

Place the moniters on the right surface.  
Everything dances to a diferent frequency, hert

Scanning a pond of rocks
Recognizing  
Each fingerprint, pit, dimple
I rerealize now the specificity of everything
And amplify anything
listening in on the correct…. His/her voice can be heard
A medium is its own sea.

I can't help but think of the scores of demons dying halfway across the planet
in my backyard
In my house
People filling their bellies with opinions on things they know nothing of

But this doesn't do as much damage as the real work
there are those killing taking action taking lives
in real time
trying their hardest to beat the tally
to beat the board
in this bored *** life
I almost respect them for wanting to make a dent of their own
Cataclysmic,
wiping dinosaurs clean
whipping amoebas and monkeys into shape

Doing something is better than drowning in möbius waves of linens and comforters

My rabbit hole hand looking dried and thirsty while cupping the brook side run off
Tongue lapping ****** sores on the outskirts of my only remaining power source

I stay silent and let loose control of the scores
Like justice, unbiased
And of course I am still looking forward to a slick hair back And focus time.

I sink deeper into the atmosphere we were responsible for,
in silence my eyelids and I fight the sunlight’s slow and crescendoing intrusion,
wondering if she is still asleep
or if she realized by now that every time she makes the slightest fidget
away from the center of the bed
I bite her

right where her lower abs meet her hip flexor
on the outside
I wanted to have her learn I am consistent.
she didn’t have to give consent,
degenerates like me don’t care

if I want the cake and proceed to eat it before day break
then so be it.
Nuzzling now
her lips press their frozen presence into the space under my jaw
and a warm gust of her pushes my sideburns up

my chest jumps
lumps in my veins snowball and create
the feel of cherry bombs popping
at every nerve ending I had forgotten

it rings me.
how could I let her trick me into jostling my babe awake?
and all before the alarm.
I grow the wings of a vicious pelican, expanding my span
using my featherish lips to attack her out of cryostasis
she curls up, afraid of more laughter and pushes her tongue through the gap she made
between her bottom and top rows of teeth.
she glows better than the bringer of days
the sun must find me insane.

I usually was
I'm not too often is
I will knew god be

A yell for the child comes with momentum
It shakes a creak out of each elderly step and surrounding glass fixture
Wailing wakes the set of mahogany stairs before stopping at the moat of the dudette’s dungeon

Kaboom, it kicked the door in on the dream

Enter a flow of sunlight
Now visible dancing off the sweaty leaves and onto the walls of the hallway
Leaping onto the eyelids of our beholder
She turns to face the wall
This empty vessel isn't ready

The yelling quickly becomes relevant
As it Sharpens into an irritating spear  
Creating unwanted foramen
Making mesh out of the impermeable cushion enveloping the chrysalised girl

The parent is a lackluster alarm clock that she bought
But still wants to beat the **** out of.
Though they serve their purpose
the half conscious tend to be ungrateful

A smile breaks open now
knowing such noxious noise is futile Fighting the lull that was already present in the room.

Going through the first motions her feet find a base
and her socks slide dangerously over splinters and thornish nails peaking out of the floorboards
The drums of her feet meeting the stairs announce her arrival.

On the first floor there awaits a vision of her childhood
Her father watching programs and eating breakfast with Charles Osgood and his correspondents
Mother making moves towards the car.

She’s surprised
The sweet smell tricked the girl into believing adventure land had been relocated to her kitchen.


She witnesses Bands of fibrous smoke slide off of the bacon
And harden as happiness on the rims of her nostrils
Her hunger whispers clear thoughts and primitive instincts from her core
And a shell of rubber pellets is released to ricochet around in the girls belly like a couple of quarters in a piggy bank -
Wants reverberate and drive up her throat
Driving her hands to the cooler of the three tired skillets

She does a quick but thorough survey of the stove top eyes hitting every grease patch and
Yellow egg puddle worth avoiding

Sitting at the galaxy black table
Jaw tensing against its will
Gums sweating and shocked anxious
Tastebuds wiggling into the room left available by the imagination
Eager on ripping into fattening pleasure

Osgood leads them into their moment of Zen to be ended at the pace of the subject
Father different from daughter
Daughter different than the mother.

I've gotten so good at getting cotton.
White substance into the white hands
White substance from the white hands.

Without a doubt or grief
Show spout!
Way from the south a maid of mouth told me (sold me)
And that, she lied.

Made of mama's marmalade and chicken fries.
It was I
Inside the strength and lengthened lie
It's been a big year to ******* on pride.
Confide in and open up,
Tub of sin - this lye to lighten my linen - soap in a cup.

Wash the tears from your ducts,
Dears eyes I was kinning wolf to pup
Kidding.
Shivers, they over flow
Want a soy supple *** to goat to once it grows.
Freeze it with ease the kids believe they can still play in snow
NO
Now is not the plague of play but plow.

I think the king left you a message, Ole Miss
Stop and learn to let go.
Before you squatted over his drum major baton
And let “the n word” strut across living rooms.

Stop and learn to let go?
I learned in textbooks about when
The ****** strutted across the living room
You made him fetch more ice to fill the lemonade lifestyle.

I learned in textbooks about when
You claimed to hate my sable hue.
My people still spray lemonade flavored perfume on this
Lifestyle I run now. Something backwards remains:

The claim to hate my sable hue.
Though now you wear it for fun
The lifestyle I run somehow remains backwards
The glorified get picked from trees.

And now they wear it for fun:
The color of the dirt from which the lemons burst
The glorified get picked from trees
And when life gives you those lemons, you make lemonade.

Named after the Son of the *****
Found the light while looking for the switch
In the waves
Can't compare a life to how insane I am

How are you? How is the man
Standing at 6 three in a couples years will have knee pains Longer than the synapse that runs from the hip to the chest to the cranium
Worried about fleek game and the cruise ending
At any moment now
Peace flees and crows cackle yowl
Holistic tendencies I try to keep up
And I think the time has come again to  bends too and fro
With the wind, like a limb
Begging to just say I know,
Nope.

There's more after the falling action of the sad story.
I wanna say that a podium waits beneath a Jumbotron, with furious music, and o positive dripping it's ****** self down onto it

Like the excess acrylic From a mural
Slipping it's way into another mural,
Oh god. (!)

I said, I saw you in the cracks between the tile !
The cements
My hearts rots volatile while my babied mind wants repents.

I really don't wanna know how you are, what u are, whoever you are.
I just wanna praise you,
Extend my exalt in perfect symmetry out from me.

Gimme
the high and the lows
Friends and foes
The cup runneth over and hits the ground but the fountain continues to pour

Each side

Gimme ..... ...... ...... ....... Whatever it takes.

for those readers
of the word of the day.

for those obsessively trying to climb over the trench
that confines the most low self esteem,
to be dragged lower by the next coup de etat
a ruse set by demons
******….
to be aroused by demons….

The leaking turned screaming at the back of the eyelids that
open,
and over sharpen the light.
if one could always see that tattoo that you stained into the oblique
in that prolonged moment of prowess
you told them to place
‘pain is but a creation of the mind.’

in trying to find air between
sobs you will  find that, this may be the best time to
fail.

for you
who wants to improve so bad,
aspire to fail.
whip the Clydesdale on the blinders that have your morphic cycle
**** out of luck, and foolstruck
by a rut.

close your mouth,
and open your ears…
listen for that whistling
can’t you hear it
coming from the breeze that was started
when that door was shut in your face and the window became an opportune
ESCAPE.


Oh, how just breathing has become an escape
for me
though every second a hilarious shot at my wee existence,
and my peers take peeks at their phones
and google
for brains

and I,
stand at the peak
with one foot already convicted to a leap
wondering what will save one more sole

i wonder
if they would take deep breathes between cries
pull their neck back for a rest
and continually search for the remnant of that release
and find it again.