Sunday, July 10, 2011


The Randomized Dream of the Selfless

I lead a flock of slipper sheep. That’s sheep that are raised for slippers.
I absolutely love slippers. I get to work at about midnight and leave
at about midnight the next day. I think slippers are brilliant when the sun

catches their edges as they’re being skinned. I should clarify here, slippers
are what we call the sheep, not just what we call what’s made from them.
It’s a way we have of making the whole process more creative.

I love things that remind me of slippers, like slipperiness – makes me think
of my old Slip-n-Slide from the backyard when we lived just outside
the Two-Headed Veal Hyperpiesia Atoll sublingual testing ground.

Some of my slippers you can spin-dry! I think that is my method of choice.
Outside lines are too untrustworthy. Drying anything chemically is kinda risky.
My family came from the ocean.

Certain days are more wordy than others, but fumigating a teeterboard
is always fun! Then you mince the meat of the sheered slipper and mix
it with some split-pea soup. It’s a legitimate source of protein.

I pick up piecework as a surrogate pigherd on a competing sandal ranch.
They feed primarily on eucalyptus and my leg is killing me. I lost a chunk
to a horticulturist with a grudge. Plants are useless unless fed to something.

There’s an audible secondary band, it’s playing the same anthem
as the primary band at the same time. The orchestration and tempo
are indistinguishable. One of the trombonists has a very peculiar dick.

Where are all the men who love to sleep on cots? We smile and pretend
we have cerebral palsy, but smart isn’t everything. In my email persona I am
a sensual transvestite with a custom footwear folder. Life holds many challenges.

I am dominantly candid, uncontrived, love to say boo to spooks, the match is always
half unlit, my days are far safer for you than your nights are for my amateur safari,
but I’m fitter than the others you’ve messaged here, and ready to go co-marauding.

Note to Bomb: Hold Off

Until you see the whites of my telescopic neck ... my spice … my mosey …
my glass when it’s bracelets ... the lipstick tidal waves in my water …
my guarantee of erections … me eating slugs and keeping oncoming …
how skimpy my jumpsuit looks in mirrors …

How I formed an opinion once out of nothing but SCUD components …
they came on the pretense of peace but were only here to starve
Jupiter and funnel him through an unwanted manhood … if you’re a
spilled out mummy with temporary tattoos of annotations to
the Spoilables by Rex Beach you can energize that veggie lasagna
and blast off into my grapefruit … I say this with all deliberate speech
and a positive outcropping on my “front porch”.

The Addition of Something New

Here is where I tick, down there is where I’m focally slick,
the only other spot you need to know is the one that makes me mew
ten times more than I normally mew, in which instance ... hmmm ...
+ attending hangings with friends
+ you (laterally)
+ a knot tied one & one sixteenth inches from the base of the shaft
+ my mistaken borderline identity
+ teatime on deck
+ a good gin and stegosaurus & Jerry Lewis on Ativan (does that count as a number?)

Know This, One of Us Should:

it’s one minute till my terribly excited superpowers,
if I steel myself against vice I will be thwarted,
if what I flay I call a “slant” metonymically I’m already out of Prozac.
1 in 8 terrorists are discrete and have families to go to games with
and spread out after a long day ...

I’m dictating this, tied to one end of my sketch, a misquotation weighting
the other like a tea-strainer filled with radioactive perfect dates, glowing
as stolidly as are the nearly totally blind architects & their thrift in assessing
the clustered junk of the former utopia planners & builders forcibly offering me
up to the king of the slipper warlords in a sort of sacrificial bar-b-cue.

This has gotten messier than flypaper on souvenir testes. I know.

And the ocean my family abandoned at the height of the market
bottoming out is now being renovated as a foot massage parlor for sarah
paleontology. In the locked case she has 2 tv shows, in a later revision more
like 20 million …

I’ll be the recapitation of you with my topically glancing energy bark, yes
it’s another superpower, if I centralize my spirit I can amortize your cold rods,
whatever you get you don’t owe me anything but the rest of your life in bed.
What they mean when they say holystone I mean when I say epic head,
a pure pluperfect hex, as in “he had done it when I came.” a hen with external eggs.

The best brunch in Arcadia

where on Wednesday nights at 3am families go hungry free. Ach mein schatz
you’re missing it, the marzipan replica of Zion is too masculine at the crux
to be a replenishable waterbird. The hearing of my heart’s plea can be widened,
wide as linen is cruel to cheeks, but a thin pelt of ambulance money, the morning
the night became itself…I think all this me just gave me a great concussion.
Where in the garden, darling?
Obediently boring into your deeper layer. Conveniently located near an arch.
You might detect a trance, might be a meager part for a walk-on semi-precious
gem with the megaphone removed. Plant this white Hydrangea. Build it a fork
of acid. Sit cross-legged at the feet of the pitted plum tree. Stone anyone who plays
a lute. This is not the way these deaths are supposed to be celebrated. With ducks.

I am no horticulturist, but I am a horticulturist.
The pom-poms will be blue as my eyes,
but only if you have the patience and acid
enough for the spring. The rest is immanent
and is killing me again, but softly this time.

What I Was Observed At

Up in a tree with night vision sights
Miserable and too ghastly for your formalities
Seeing The Thundering Fleas
It begins at a slow pace, then gadgetry spools it up
I will never be Finnish for you
But you may rebreak my teenage glass
You’ll find directions to the canopy on my outer lobby
Crying at your recital, made subtle by unexpected news
Rethinking beef as a form of communication
Getting the sweats right after years of registration

I’m Pointing to it Now

let's stimulate joylessly …
let’s find the threshold too suddenly ...
let's splice a little girl to a fissure ...
let's pierce my bush and watch my stagger ...
let’s knock back a dozen in the pitch-black ...
let's smack you on the pinpoint until fully compatible ...
let’s flag girls down during their first misconstrual …
let’s wound and medicate …
skid then throb?