very

writers say dont use it. but i think it's very okay

very revised

(having revealed the dude was damn arrogant, arrogant like an arrow / Her Responsibility

  

            The handwriting on the wall narrows down at the breakfast in bed.

Mom sings to hovering pancakes

this golden Sunday morning like a brown nipple. I’m going to be fed.

Late I rise, up the ceiling lowers

the start of a modest day. Those upturned glasses sat on their back all night,

the same way our turtle choked on vomit. . . Jacob really messed up.

Anyway, I finish my meal and sprout to the next,

a cup of joe to get on with it.

Had to have gone on with it, no matter what the what.

Life for me has been, well, accommodated

so I am comfortable. The handwriting on the wall highly recommends

I take a break

so, I am comfortable with not much else to do but a pile of dishes

            Hello chap, could you kindly fetch me the paper. . .

thank you much. As I was saying,

the words come as easily as the Jewish money, the connection being that

moola makes language, to and fro, a boat ride. You know all too well,

do you? Okay then the poem ends here

            it’s not too late!:

The bed )on the wall narrows down on the hand

writing about breakfast. )Going towards Mom who hovers over sun day more ning,

who sings these gold enbrowned )piles of mourning me. . . feeds me

the vomit of his turnup turtle, )a real choked up

mess. Those meals lower modest, down )Jake’s gullet, be it a cup of nipple

that any brown dish of joe can sprout to a sunup )sputter and it wouldn’t

matter any way you read this, with glasses or on your )back—

            You will puke and go back to sleep )just like the turtle finished,

comfortable )for life. I accommodated, so

much )the High Hand reccommendated, what, not a pile of pancakes.

Take on )so kindly a break, could you

much. )The paper fetches the chap, thank it. Was. . .

I )saying the Jewish boat ride connection came with

money ‘la moo? )You do know the poem too, and fro, and where

it ends

--- Yesternight. from,

Charlie: ‘With welcome we

disport through the sinuous

assembly, a ceiling

over the head, unnerved’

Cole Swensen poem

"and the body between word and world fuses, frays" (Such Rich Hour, Cole Swensen)
and the time between an hour's utterance and
       the hand full of potential energy at 12
and the people in the city streets know
       the verses of the day, it will end at 5:30,
for some

I hope, one day, the clocks are burnt like jesus.
       Then we all won't know what to fucking do no more
the doing scheduled appointments, morning announcements,
newspaper n shit

morning poem

Eyecrusties
little green jewels, am we.
morning we see, night we born.
Fingies hate us, kill us
green little jewels. Squishy yet tough
You get rid of us, but you cannot for
              You are a factory of we.

Combined Styles “Recipe for Prison Pruno” + Hypnotherapy

Take 10 peeled oranges,

First, begin to breathe in

            and out.

one 8-oz. can of fruit cocktail,

On the inhale, imagine breathing GOOD feelings.

squeeze the fruit into a small plastic bag

As you exhale, you release all the BAD feelings.

and pit the juice along with the mash inside;

Now close your eyes,

add 16 oz. of water and seal the bag tightly.

and relax each part of your body;

Place the bag into your sink,

speak it, say relax on the exhale;

and heat it with hot running water for 15 minutes.

start by wiggling and relaxing your toes, then work your way up

Wrap towels around the bag to keep it warm for

            fermentation.
all the way to your

            face.
Stash the bag in your cell undisturbed for 48 hours.

Count down from 10.

When the time has elapsed,

after each number, you take one more step down long stairs

add 40 to 60 cubes of white sugar,

You reach 0 and you reach the surface of

            a lake.

6 teaspoons of ketchup,

You can walk on the water and you feel

            relaxed.

then heat again for 30 minutes.

The water can be pierced by pushing your hand

Secure the bag as before,

through the surface.

than stash it undisturbed again for 72 hours.

And as you reach deeper into the lake, your body becomes

            submerged.

Reheat daily for 15 minutes.

Think of when you were

            fourteen:

After 72 hours,

What were the kind of people you spent your time with?

with a spoon, skim off the mash;

Did they go to your school? What did you all do together during

            lunch break?

pour the remaining portion into two 16-oz. cups.

Let anything that pops into your mind flow freely,

Guzzle down quickly!

You may be surprised by what you remember, and enjoy it!

Gulp Gulp Gulp!

 ---Nov 30th '11

The melody of my magic

Foogle fum fiddle

Fak frus fumblers

fla fla frees fluggun

Fitting fin the shade ov the free:

mother ucking hit I  ate you

Befrayal. My voice  orced to freak like this

rather be  oiceless.

o         Mama, mama I  ove you flo snuch

o         lover o Lover, snuffle fwee touch flo flowly

o and Dad, ow is  ork dese days

o kay freel  ice talking fwith phew

o my sister Sam who is so much I I much so her

o Jake Jacob Jake fumble genius and big lil brother

but       Mama mama, sweet annoyance I forgive. . .

but       you have that sandwich for me?

but and Dad, about that money. When will you. . .?

but       flease flease take  ood care ov I and the others,

not ferry sure what to, where to do next

Helpless, more often than not

Hurtful, empty ov fist ferocity

You think you can take me on? p--------ssesses

skills seen to chop up a family or put one together

 cratches on a vinyl recor or painting chorus curls

Watch me do:

Frish frosh  ti ti ti ti tak

Ya yeah faw set samoosrew

grep loo kadvala frees frees frees!

Are we there yet?

Yet, there we are

napping on the clouds—

licking the stars

We are up in the clouds
and we can't get down

Below, a man hanging from a cliff

Yet, there we were not

So he plummets plummets, plummets

to the needles afar

pleading for his mother.

We spot a blackberry bush—

it’s voice calls for us

Yet, there we were—

napping on the clouds