LOVVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE

By the feasibility of a zone.

The day laborers built a whistle.

When a whistle blew they died.

One can easily get hooked up.

How hung up in a zoning loop

you are depends on how splendidly

bejeweled at the waist. This garment

left the thought of food in bed

in a hidden pocket of the hollowed

skull. A chocolate bug.

Miu Nicewander left her scent.

I was reminded of the time spilling

from the wound. A midriff blown

into separate dream partitions.

I was getting nerves. I called

my cell and asked if anyone could

calm me down with a song. One tone

per customer it said I would believe.

Into the cell she came to tell me,

“You misspelled my name. I like it

better. I’m sorry they’re hanging

you on football Sunday.” I said,

”What, according to your measure

is an appropriate length of earring

for a straight man?” A new zone

opened and swallowed all my merit.

The guard of flattened at the outer rim

asexuals escorted me to the mouth.

My robes burned away by rising air, no

sensation of heat preceded the fluid rock.

The car he acquires will tell us

who has the coordinates to the final

seasonable egg.

I sing of thee in the four on the floor

signature that makes a dying tango

of the world of process.

Your principal attributes float.

Only you know when, the what

always comes when she whistles.

And what difference does where

make when you have no idea

how this paper reached its appointed

corner of the blizzard. A sinker,

an order of slave purpose, and, oh,

a cup of who, Job.