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So don't delay act now supplies are ruh-hunning out
connecticut is such an amazing continent

eight hundred and five ways to die
perfectly packed pants
other versions

of me huge and looming, and the parents
die on islands of 100
the first

shatterproof hourglass sandtrap
the carpetted colony
darkness is calling me
i'ma get a doctorate in suckology

from some suburb somewhere
or it's
what if krypton never blew up?
to the, "no bro, what are you

doing for riot month?"

my thesis on a regret-shaped fire-arm made world class
of my scholarly africentric grey matter brain tissue
busily buzzin'

"cha need to get your silence piereced, cousin."
buy me and my high-priced cd
on compliance week

from the kiss' front yard push eyes glued to the
astronomical number of silicates i have seen in the lifelong
sidewalk to: "i would give everything

in my

left history lesson, if
i could
just be caucasian
half a second..."

my sexuality is the decapitated metaphor for me in the only
housesitting loaner mirror played by blackish rakish brackish
chalky outlines doing the upper and lower egyptian rendition
of a porn i may have audititioned my reagan-era regret
for judging the daily bread release date on the historical
ending montage titular pause without pow projected on the raised
and hastily installed toilet partitions of an empty
flimsy 6th floor public tearoom reverb acoustics as heard
on the sending side of a fatally timed cellular phone trough-
to-crest relationship line of ectoplasmic concern culminating
in my black bulb not making the special predator's cut
threshold by a new york eon. there's something so male
about cubicles if either a volatile vaccuum or full.

'90s observational writing

(The Night Belongs to Michelob)
(B to the R to the O)

the dilemma: (for playwright or visionary) the wits
wondering what
a thought?

to be mixed when in this
unmade of hence

did such fit
and comely stud lads

descend ripped
unfolding swimming hole of yore
graduated itch brief disbelievable scratch that I did four
living alone more than shitting with the door open
blowing your nose on the mattress

a lone man

room ritual's nightmare of
not me and
technique for
a negative attention addict...
things to
in the movie:



that builds
statue face

when the phone throbs

to an earlier voicemail

i left him, or

ana instead: (that's the dying black joke)

"my granddaddy got in the barbary wastes a thumbtack carved
from a dead baby deer eye mounted in a dead baby deer eye
carved from a 30 foot junglebuilder dogwood. cool ain't it?"

gemini plural,
g minus

well, rap and hate
live alone

above a street
it didn't
happen to meet
a doorway
pause button

budge or doorbell two
heroes we
holding up childhood like accountability isn't real

of the grid of shimmering disks
those of some livid recorded smile delivered
to the right an acute elbow plus a remote apogee
yet, all
others frowns...

every last himself
then, sore log flue its cheeks tribute soaking sun leaking loose
a bubble-filling pill beast underneath rippling suspicion flesh
dedicated to the breathtaking wardrobe of my mistakes

"ive always
doctored an abiding, vast
love for your
cargo-shorted calve curve,

smog, color wheel and you know, you know."
"i'm hate with breathing

trouble pants chugging
two planet-sized
sport rocks upstream,
just i knew."
that mysterious puppeteer in fear we trust no judgments here

he thumbs those fevered drops back to the temple
of wasted spotless olive ageless glow
one laser paints the capital 'O' in 'over' on a stony
bronze-age quarter
chose blood-filled embrochure
a cartoon flower
united barely as a slipping rehearsal for how a forest
would burn in the night

anchored in red

it's milkbreath
eyes full of fear

same time stopped up
hungering a kiss
more than kiss at the collegiate
pant crotch cocksuck

she unshirted
and the twin perused
dual sidewalk slabs

cracked through a lacery
of weeds surging with each roaring moment

the uncountably complicated array of microscopic spots
in the

paint of her vessel

rotund canoe trunk
beached, fissured

with golden-brown
muscular stepping stones

"take it."
"take it?"
we're not gonna make it
she took
and labored

the bouncing medicinal pasage was a wash

"no mas"

and now, the sturdy arrangement of sinews and sunlight
exuberance unbunched the ready family member
...denim's the moniker

picture of
fairhaired protagonist lifting a calendar

lo, a full complete totally pink and empowered sunset
with the
and avenging boy

sphere's glamorous
deliverance ball flavored

the kiss' frontlawn push

with characters
the opposite of the author's written skintone and
access ramp and rectangled center and middleschool
humpy connecticut boys and rennovated colored red light
and mouseholes of closeups on entangled writhing

spectacles's dandelion taste in the mouth
zippersnagged gasface power
ghosting swirling and pulling a flush
from boxed-in and dirty plum June

after all my hard work if nothin's playin then click here