well, **** changed quick,
once it was like: i’ll change to take a differnet pic,
now it’s all about: i’ll change the pic to
keep the status quo...
then i’ll tackle global warming turning into a vegan...
root out the problems of carrots and leeks
taking rooting like silly dentistry in the poet’s corner
of a birmingham canal
(full credentials of a bled out cranium via a mowler)...
that will spank those **** capitalists
to ensure las vegas doesn’t exist... yep...
it will sort them out... bangladesh came before the maldives
for the five o’clock shadow and sideburns...
i scuttled like a rat off a ship into a pop song crescendo
of a ship sinking...
i said something about the expanding sockets that gave more
than a missed shaved plot allotment of 5pm and
gave way to insomnia am.
please god... 50... no more! no more! 50!
i want to be gone before einstein’s war of sticks and stones comes!
i want to be gone by then! god... einstein, prior to that
we fanbase an intellectual debate that never arose
from the logic of writing the next pop song,
i’ll be mermesrised by the pass and the passerby of the next dream
sincere from the class that gave us the denial of synchronisation
and a quote from marxism that evolved into chaos
with the oink-looter capitalism; anorexia got the dress...
man got the coat-hanger oak leaf for genitalia
that never mattered with trans-gender movement -
we were always exposed... and 2 x 2 of the clover assured
the pigmented futures of repeat...
well if i don't want to repeat... do you?
i hardly think so seeing you taking revenge
against homosexuality taking pleasure from ****...
like now... i will not lipgloss to toss my heart aside and
mascara the skies as dark lit ready to be kidney full for
a torrent of the breaking of the one muscle involved
in wetting the bed... colouring in strange, clepsydra indigo
identifiers as dittoing these words
with a single word: mothered;
indeed mothered... because unloved - pity the cosmopolitan
girl in you... you read the girlie magazines while
i read the books of soul-searches... you disposed of
to ready the column of the horrific repeat
for the heads or tails questions;
neither matters with you... since it should be asked of you:
horns or tail?
i guess that's a question with an answer
without the devil but the humanity:
the dentistry of vanity - like the god behind the wind
and the snowflake -
indeed psychopathy is like atheism...
with the former the soul doesn't exist...
with the latter god doesn't exist...
we're grounded for an eternity of dialectics.