Werewolf stood in front of a puddle.
Four inches deep. Maybe.
Werewolf looked away.
Stickers. Graffiti.
Flem’s Revenge Live Tonight!
The Nifty Nymphos April 24th.
Ballz Deep featuring **** Matikz and Tremaine The Truest.
I’m a long way from Cologne, he thought.
Werewolf knelt towards the puddle.
The wet filth smelled of hot blood.
Exceptionally hot blood, rather.
He spat in the puddle and turned.
One thousand drunk humans.
Ten thousand more, asleep, above.
Not misunderstood.
Cursed.
It’s a very different sadness.
Alexander’s Feast ended.
Rounding out his latest playlist -
Bashfully Baroque.
Werewolf checked the time.
Less than an hour.
He buzzed a buzzer.
I’m here for the Devil’s Cherries.
The What?
The, ahem, Devil’s Cherries.
He’s cool. Let him in.
And just like that, he was let out.
A line was forming for Flem’s Revenge.
While a bright moon reflected in Werewolf’s puddle.
Werewolf shouldered through.
Cursed.
Clutching his score.

everyone is trippin ballz and i wanna do acid
i wanna live in a tent with a flap and some pants and thats it
i could live on beans and veggies
i could have ***** feet and rotten mouth taste
id do that in exchange for happiness
in exchange to understand and grasp
pure. happiness..
my stomach hurts
where am i

at best: a drink and a homage to sleep -
nothing too complicated:
not allowing dreams to leave
traces of having invested in me -

i blame the cameo cinema of memory
for a lack of dreams -
then again:
i only have a bouquet of four or five
return-to memories
that i **** myself with...

        but it's all oh so un-
           -spectacular...
  everything is these days...
         because i feel: more than i think...
it's hardly an argument:
i feel therefore
            is no therefore to trickle down
toward...
an ontology detached from etymology
and subsequently from history...

everything is such a grand: devoid...
it's like... beside the nouns
there are only onomatopoeias...
there's a "wake-up" call
for those in a noon sizzle and scortch...
there's the milking of a camel
by rubbing the humb
with hands for sandpaper dust...
and there's the arithmetic
of bones:
         a rubric of the spine...
of those / i.e. things made
into a market of pickling...
cucumbers - later gherkins...

oysters... garlic K9s....
                   everything is so impossible
not because of some laziness...
but because... a be-at-a-loss...
            so immediately presented
the pressure comes of its own accord...

i'll sooner come across
a sentence with om / par /
le /              yod / -dle
                      lubi- /
                              decant... decant...

big words... yoyo...
   etymology... ontology etc.
  epistemology... bogus drawn a...
poker and a 2 + 2 = 4 is all the new
fathomed glue: and basics...

a return to... hardly...
somewhere between e. e. cummings
and will alexander...
                
  it's not because:
but there's no great awakening of a narrative
ready for a paragraph...
this alone is shrapnel logistics...
it's splinter-cell wo-wo-wording(s)...

         once upon a time grand adventure...
meat in the grinder...
a metallic-aftertaste...
   a softness of the chin after having
shaved...
and the beard...
  something i admire for my own self's
"purpose"...
like... the fiddle... of the dubious
***** afro extension:
in my hand a fiddle a bunch an
imitation / metaphor of a violin...
the fizzle of the mane stressed
toward the aid of the bow...

or the "new" invention of the
hammer and the nail...
counter: the ***** and the driver...
otherwise... the sickle...
and the wait-parody
of the chaff... autumn too late...
the first begotten
mill churns for flour...

                     the cement of a proper
stash of ****...
   a well deserved agony
of a browning of a loaf...
       a ceremony of sorts... beside...
wainbor and that pirate ship
of... cul de sac d.n.a. confiscations...
well! no more stupid than
no one knows who...

      a contradictory rubric:
science and it's contra: the aesthetic...
the 1960s and its hindu ****
and the western hangover materialism...
an isaiah berlin and
               the **** and the jig...
hence the... saw...
              
              it's still a chemical soup
of the brain in realm of psychiatry...
and those things and tender "bones"
of psychology...
em em: objective...
inclinations scarce...
          this over-worded
scholastic peacock and a gravity
guiding toward
a crux - the golgotha 1 +1 =
    and a revision upon the "thrice"...

               the better the worded
in that there must be a newly worded
vogue... a vogue of synonyms...
to scuttle... the best of the neutral:

chem. soup of the brain...
the basic fruition of the heart's
rhythmic junctions...
              
   the "leisures" of skin to contradict
a half-baked fathom of leather...
thus? to grow BALLz like
watermeHlons...
              and... count teeth like...
those "things" bound to
                be lodged into a scrutiny
for toothpicks in...
those grey-bits and shadows...
and those un-explored
clouts of brainz-it-freese...

                         hoop-l'ah!
less, concerning calling a dog a dog...
and more...
                        just ******* barking!
woof!
wo'ah!          blitzkrieg rotts-veil-ms.-eerie!

new photo-anti-objective
"reality"...
the old l.c.d. and new-hormones...
    otherwise: leash the old gorgon...
and *******... bro...

the best new transcendent...
reality...
come some old communism
of femme...
because the reality of males
and as plumbers
and the churn of rubbing charcoal...

but all those oh cherry-whipping lips!
these standards of...
my best whittle wowld
and standards...
and... octopus oogling the next
big scrutiny...
        
   again... truly objective...
the new hormone junkies
is... nothing new of the U.V.
subjective spectacular amazonian
mind-****: or call it...
p.t.s.d. from new vietnam...
because...
                new drugs... new highs...
the mind less a sponge...
and the body the old platonic
                     "it" wed itself to a grotesque
slow-roasting the gall: and the *******
and the chimney sweep...
and... uvula monobrow...

             dr. and dr.'s an 'atan...
                             thus saying...
no one is being judged...
but everyone is being trampled...
my brain's the juice...
your body is a hromonal ****...
and it just so happens...
the paratroopers of the grand
-oid are...
              lost? looters?
loitering?
sow the new normie...
                  who's to judge,
judge who... zoo-curious old berlin...
yeah...
           that's this new old ****
i have always been looking for...
no...
              no d.n.a. impropmptu forward...
chains and perv brilliant...

            hell...
this me this new becoming...
                chappie b'oh...
                      gets ***** by an ottoman...
gets ***** by a mongol
gets ***** by a chrimp wishard geijingyjingy...
cold basics within the confines
of taipei in W(oo)...

                            loot! the scoop!
no new brave...
no new old...
                ergo?
   the brave old...
              and the old brave;
nasal... nasal... umbrellas...
                     umbrellas... loitering
shadows constipated to make grip
of a shin.