TwoHoleMoon

My cellphone is a sumppump

I dream of having a brain in the Berkshires
with a wooden Indian burning stove, and a mess
of creationists to practice good conversation,

an interesting part time nervous system, sorry
I meant part time chevy nova, good food if not, books
about venous encounters, navigable music in place of bones.

(Where did that little fainting ecstasy come from?
I don't know my own middle table, but the spunk of it is a live
incinerator in my life already. it came with a splinted cock.)

What I’m donating withers my lifeforce

I’m doing something with it, mining, I'm the mom
of a spit resisting agent, host a daily repossession fair
and my self mounts me like a crawling frame, rehearsing

crevice damages in my free time. I work
in NYC as a universal entity. I am no more academic,
nor landed a psychoanalytic candidate than, say, Veejer.

in view of the flood I’m keeping balanced, dousing menial works
in fluid and obfuscating distasteful manuscripts by thumblight, having
never had time to be an entire outdoors, I spend my sleeping hours travelling

over the river of friends and unmet family. I'm an invention but do not
judge me for it. Also a ravenous cook and sexually so-so, I am
unusually skilled at de-planeting, locating the nexus, and re-converting coal.

I’m a regional ally of the dog of Doris Woodlawn

I’m a god at plaiting wigs. Parity is very big with me. Big projections
on small walls trip my connection. (not so a hard un-packing, though)
I keep a cool head under pressure. I chip away at it during hot spells.
So chirping until it listens.
Scoring big goals despite two bum wings.
Being opened as a tin.

Finality is to thirst as this gong is to a laboratory

I'm you with the thimble shaped cigarette
birth marks removed. Or are they cartoon
wolves protecting my she cave from marauders
on nights when the majorette has group?
Don’t you wish you cared enough to know?
I’m not looking for anything you
can stable. I court oblivion but only insofar
as it secretly means immortality.
Observation is my ass as a magnanimous
gesture, refines me by association.
I love to quote the damned, i.e. “The damned
don't really know what the hell
is thinking.” A knowledge of grasses
my ass has touched, a pulse point.

My Blessed Mary favors the idiot despite saying boo to you, Doofus

My favorite book is the Tall Muds of Progesterone.
My favorite movie is made entirely of twist ties.
I eat Italians.
Rust becomes me.
Imagine a relative American.
My favorite president is Calvin Klein, Samantha owes me a Friday
the 13th, my life these days is increasingly non-fiction!
I can be moved by the poetry of Samuel Taylor Elliott or anything starting with k.
Movies give me girlwood.
Jazz has my unborn inside him. (I also come to some classical)

A glimpse at my deepening itches

a chimp reciting neo-socialist code
non-refundable purchases
interesting friends in me
the knowledge of mean animals
outdoor tug-jobs
family
my past elevated to a sport

On a typical Kristallnacht I am…

art and thematic
moving against light
good to eat or ad hominem
having it off with friends
orange
trying toast for the first time
two kids from somewhere

At mosque I blurted my entire videography

Satan threw me a ruby encrusted rat once at recess
to make a point, not very polite...but not entirely unappreciated

I’m looking forward to being your only excuse for…

Guys who are like girls
Ages zero to repeat
A pool near a median
All those who are singing and/or singed
An occurrence for a term to be determined

You should gag me with that mess if…

you want anal with a Mennonite
you want an ingrown off chance
a lungful to breathe you onto frost
and honest bowling that won’t make me exmilitary
a life that betides the nuclear cookies and cream age
one relationship in which we both can grow knobby
and one with no games I can’t win
no superpowers that fall outside the approved list
(posted in the customer service foyer)
an official with a whistle would be a plus
give me enmity, or give me M&M’s, or give me an end I can serialize
my legs hold lots of shiny toys.
Send this to at least six Good Humor veterans.
You will be required to mumble while deprecating.
You’re welcome in advance.
A replica of my splint will be wedded
to your trapeze, provided you have the incoming
trajectory.