nothing more than a bunch of grieving nooziclerks
or else a grammut of petulant mulberry thivs.
Twirling our juggy buttumps loose wit old hamsmear kajingus,
the funk within, without the place was muggy and damp,
not doing his school work.
fragments and pieces
of it here and there.
grim child clutching the hell and handle out a judas wrench - pencil,
the perfect maelstrom contengecy
in my arch and lardint cool respunktive geranium ass worldview,
dusk in the Dorset highlands,
mammal calamity,
hung punks heaving into lucky-loo’s,
devil swiff, devil sniff,
CHI FAN at the devil’s ZHUOZI,
comming back to the red penicil,
he was waiting there, waiting in a window for me, a young son, the protagonist of my film, rocking his torso in half sleep, as though caressed by some underworld god.
The poem I want to write is bigger than your head: and round.
Maybe inscribed inner ring of the hula hoop, cylindrical infinity hazard.
Oops we put the “O” in hoola hoop.
Oops we activated the ungsteen blooper infinity problem.
Right now your eyes stay closed, ok, dear finger?
I had my squirming oily parameters DOS’ed.
Finger in the Amazon.
No he wasn’t.
No he wasn’t the man we who though was he or n’t.
So yeah. Plam B is food, gone a little “ham ways”.
Holy cow.
we ate,
the holy, holy cow.
Holy cow, we what meat we ate.
The Holy Cow.
Yes We Did.
So this is my dumn boem, and it isn’t “about anything”
it’s a rumbling rant through the pillin’ hilltops of everglade glen canyon.
Sweet me!