NOW ENTERING MANUAL BREATHING MODE

The night's work was over.
Most of the workers sensed the real life.
One could not embrace the intention
of the heroes. Next day, no scooter.

So the whole craze about the artist
went over his head, since he fell asleep
half way through the predictable plot.
Then came the planes and swiffers.

Danny DeVito waited in the baggage claim
with a sign that said "DeVito".
He was clinging firmly to his coke zero.
It only showed in a single frame.

"I'll be right back" everyone
in the world said to the space station.
"I mean, who doesn't want to be velvety-
rich!" said the station master's buttered nuts.

That seemed weird, the way she drowned
before that movie began. Anti-anti-climactic.
This is how revolutions are fomented. One
pint of blood on a corn muffin at a time.

Now the internet is turning young girls into living
conditions, staring doe-eyed at the waving crop
of yellow bonanzas, wielding butterfly bows, cupie
lips on porcelain denoted by black hail.

One gave his last muffin to a young girl
and she played flight of the bumblebee
with a butter knife crusted in his precious nuts.
The red balloons aka her muffin will not be televised.

Hey you! you got white stuff in your hair!
Is this product placement? Too much white product?
Was it what you expected? How do you get that white
stuff off your tongue?

"I'll be right back," his wind rattled.
The construction site had a bright banner
that made it an exiting construction site!
That eight foot ball of filling blood was answered

with a meteor, with a fire safety manager,
with a portable in-ear war thermometer,
with grease to prevent the dance floor
from rising into a cavern of its scars.

The pod, when they blew it open, was filled
with the most beautiful sounds. Sounds of
rejected sinks. Laughter of retards writing
all of Mozart then playing with C-4 and a Colt

45 Malt Liquor and a 45-rpm of Mozart "handling"
himself in a tricky situation involving blacks. The blacks
don't care about tongues. They're just tongues.
You trade one in at the clinic for a real-life Barbie

then you bow her until she breaks out
in Keep the Home Fires Burning.
Love at eleven compromised the plaster
looking like striations of Acai juice or invented blood.

The blood squeezed out of a Plymouth.
C-4 requires a binder to work. Something to bind it
to work. The Cars That Ate Paris released in the US
as the cars that eat people. But ya gotta drive.

In space no revolution is possible without corn.
In space no young girl can be sexualized until she's a doll.
In space no amount of blood can fill any ball.
In space no one can hear you bathe your eyes.

No one ever hears Mr. Bubble coming until someone
loses an eye.  The teacher with the ruler with the metal edge
bought us one nut each then left us to get home on our own.
The ending ran backwards before the opening credits.

It blew. Hitchcock walked.

You Are Not a Boy

You are not a boy but pimples don’t let you live free?
in glad tidings we greet thee oh Roosevelt of the coal chute,
and surmise that Satan’s scowl has deepened your butt crack.
Deepened the tub to accommodate same, deprogrammed all
your independent swing dancers, daughters of the Reddy Kilowat
forgetting generation, but me. me? me, say, how dare he play with us?
Work for your supper while recognizing the kitchen of our Slavic
youth, recognize its brilliance in Spics, Sambo.
Abortion Clinic Length Fuse Deluxe by Hasbro.

Patrick, Are you ready to please your BFF on Valentines?
How about your BBF? Your big feinting cork on the wall?
Need expert consultation with your cork control?
Gain some extra strength and be ready to become
an advancing army of the red state sexmachine!

Real Estate Sex with a real Realtor
who’s never had sex till this very moment
in the suspension of quality time. Sex After 50
is the new Sex after miles to the border on foot.
No Piranhas, no noblese oblige, no blems
in your finish – Earl Scheib.
You must use your my First Utero Creamsicle
by Fisher Price, loaded with warm hot big huge hard stiff
loads of compassion by the Helsinki Vicodin Quartet, an agrarian
age without the required Evinrude Human Resources Tennis Prrrrrrro.

Their eyes dropped onto the table a short while after.

Against that wall of on-demand binding
riddling the whole Heidelberg inquisition
with Stephen King on bass, rendering Tuesdays
With Maury in potato buds, the undead as a Nazi
mosquito brigade advancing on the crowds in Fireplace City.

Flattens his tongue on that sphere,
skull fragment cocked in a quizzical dog
attitude, he presses an alphabet into her
until an accessory has been born and sucked
its contents dry for trying tofu made of veal.

Pequod over the netting of the Juliette
of the Sportscenter Central West, trapped
at the mouth of the pass and all that harderer.
Arnold gave his life to golf, it just won’t end yet.
Give of me my cold, my hungry, my thin pleasure
found in boards unshuffled upon on the quarterdeck,
the Enterprise was destroyed before any of us were born
singing, destroyed by the evil that lurks in the hearts of men…
destroyed like so many eggs and ham (not any known shade
of green) Then the Pleasure of nice weather no longer rhymes.
Just like it never did.
Question: to every black man who dreams of a white woman in his bed,
would you elect this Cadbury Goat? Question: to every god feigning man
who rides a white horse in his F-150 with stretch cab, would you?
Engineering types the casing took on the look of told us what we needed
to know; man is a chameleon with only one color and pattern to his name.
The promise is not Das Kapital with Johnny Action by Marx. (it must be
good, it’s by Marx!) The problem is in your radiator cap too willing to blow
for just overheating on the pledge drive.

ones weight exists to enter it in the contest to not lose faith.

I can devise work on my palm.

Get ready with the I in I am about to be
Going Easy And Swift With U-Boats Up the Canal.
And see, you step into the prescription canal
and find it made of oil. Oil and the gel of the Alleghany buck.

Make sure they think you were in the freezer when the deal
went down, then take a cab over to Morgana and get busy
going down on Morgana’s miniature Italian greyhound.

The kids knew only its initial properties and killed it for meat.
In that forest of beers and subjects under torture yet there was
nothing more that needed to be entered into the official report.


What Is New Jew? Jew, If nothing becomes you
but the black dress of the hologram, how does that
set on tilt the world of anesthesia? There’s a second
world of anesthesia? Hiding beneath the bed of the first?
Stabbing me in the back at the slippery lipped source
of all life slopping its intoxicating smelling chili.
It was/is life, what he said she said about you, not yours
to take back for credit. That portal into the entrance
lobby, that eight to ten inch causeway, spread
its chili across his back and down.
If he had been a better sci-fi writer he might have
left a better will.
Seriously.
And he might have gotten the chance to direct.

How Often Do You Feel Blue?
Maybe it's your unrecognized depression?
Maybe the too many ess’s in your name?
Two sons who, nobly following in his footsteps, have taken
to reciting, like cloning chimpanzees, the prefatory
negation of all things unrelated to A True Story
About Thee Gods Of Love And Their Mastery
of shipments of primo weed unpacked on the tarmac
of the curve of your lower spine.
This was of course impossible without delay.
Boloney, Febreze, sequential sentient ants traipsing
their way to the islands where they roosted,
or soaring leisurely to Simply Order Top Quality Generic Pills
scattered to the cloud of bees. The bees know. The bees
don’t tell, it’s how they preserve their information sources.
Balancing death by Nestles Crunch on rope, on bridge, on
Poison, on Blitzen, on a snack assortment that was heavenly,
the stuff of a hundred million gleaming nightmare hooks and ladders.
The nest spontaneously feathering.
Cradling it on its side, feigning mesothelioma
when the plasterers union finishes up stuccoing Lincoln’s eye.
Anything, they’d have done anything, just so the holograph
wouldn’t have taken any shit.

Or taken any away.

One was large as a tong.
One, a familiar tune.

Shocking results on your body regeneration search
taught even a woman at the information meat counter
that nothing would nestle not holographically fizzure imbued.
Not, at least, until after they snatched her anyway and reexamined
and retitled and rebranded and reintroduced the same hole
into the same receiving line. The bride bled water from her seat.
Was I going to die when released from the trap?
I was going to continue to die trapped.
They clapped for themselves, so I clapped.

StuntHope

What does it mean when your baby Is born
with Blonde Streaks? I don't know, but my daughter
was born with the longest consecutive win streak in NFL history.

Some of them bear the silvery streaks of birth.

Mini cunt lice has a spectacular aura
(another more detailed examination to follow)
but he wants me to flower it in my tent
so he can have a bonsai bud.

We’re so good together
I have to cling to him until the panic subsides
but who here is hazardously wearing their fatigue?
at most it’s a numerosity, a gasket, momentary
disarray, a carry-on cot in the already Radon fuselage.

So I stick to misspelling words like “Organising”
and sucking the monsoons out of parties
posing fetchingly as Larva Croft by a fence.
Free-style dancing across soundproof pleats
in my silvery-streaked burn-scarred nickelplated nickels.

My son wants me to legalize his bronchitis. I said sure.
His dad is an autocratic friend of my enemy friend.
Am I milling correctly? Is this the pre-debris-trail-plane?
Cassocked johns are dancing, free-style, around
my titanic hairball roadside mausoleum. It’s real,
my titanic, and the choke response, and the resurrection.
It’s you who’s the display case.

a CRUX a KLUX some CLIQUES

Give me one full ridicule example
using the regular baby as a bar.
Give me a newborn reflex action.
Give me a pregnancy AND a baby.
Give me one regular with grief
and one regular hold the grief.
Extra reflexes on both.
And one medium soft target.
And one water, no cup.

Grief is really just relief with a g
where the l used to be. Or closer.
Or less close.
And some redeployment.
The hilarious phases of pain.
Phase of the moon as the shape
of the elegant burn on your calf.
Happy Reenactment Day, baby.
Name your pie.

I took the Ell once.
It was in Chicago.
They made me give it back.

I threw out my back in Chicago.
It was opening day.
The ball never reached the plate.
The spork was on permanent backorder.

When I swapped the New York City skyline
for a sandwich sliced like dinosaur teeth
everybody died. Not the least being me.
The least being all of the senseless fucking
dinosaurs at once. Who saw that coming?
Kraft?

When you say you are willing
to give your life do you mean
the kind of thing that men are
afraid or ashamed to do openly,
and by day? How much are you
asking for the histories?
The ones that are over
on that table by the hose reel.
Which do you think suits me best? The green?
Will you take less?

Jesus said “Let the least of you
dinosaurs come unto me.
I’ve got the only ball. It’s my mother
scratching party now.”
That was back in the summer of ’65.
Whichever hundred and sixty five.
Later he revised his position.
More sandwiches for the crew.
Fewer fossils per capita.

So, aside from everything else, Mrs. Lincoln
MKZ, how do you like Detroit?

There goes that slow, exquisite build.
The ball moves faster than the heart.

They buried him then hung him next day.
He got himself hung however.
Does the order of events, ultimately,
have any impact on the events themselves?
Did The Great One need that last goal?
If his supermodel wife were to die
of a mysterious kitchen utensil
tomorrow would he need another?
Would he shave?

Here comes the show down.
The beating faster heart gives up
entirely before it’s reduced to a lousy
recessive pulse in an identical
though somewhat smaller scaled shaft.

I won one off of Kevin Grabasski at recess.
Was he pissed.

The distortion, the machine
that produces the sole
supply of large jungle cats.
The distortion is in fact
an intentional distraction
from the gathering moisture
on your thigh. I still love that one.
It hurt me so I couldn’t forget a thing.
Similar in style to the split between
tracks that were originally joined
in memory, divided
by trains, then by numbers
in a list, then by whatever
you say next.

I remember this song as the first song
of the best show I’ve ever
died a thousand times.

By this time next year sex will
have become all you ever needed.

I always try too hard, like a blue reindeer.
Like a lone blue reindeer in JANUARY.

Remember Janet Jackson’s titty
holding court? The only manmade thing
you can see from space?

Now we talk in terms
of orchestral arrangements
of various inedible geniuses.

No, we don’t.
We don’t talk at all.
Not at all.
We just repeat what he said.

A smile, is it? A record
shattering dry spell
with only a classic iPod
to loosely date this moment
of dreamy
catastrophe.

There was, seriously, nothing
funny about that first date.
It was perfectly quiet.
We had carrots.
We spoke via body language.
Now I no longer know
which season is longer,
the snow season
or the season
with the missing snow.

I’m still quoting lyrics
to try to win a woman’s affection
or win a man’s rejection of a woman
affecting an attitude of musicality
in an upward firing bat tornado.
Neither one makes sufficiently
little sense.

Do you think you’re a dinosaur?
Do you think I am in need of assistance?
Just because I am saying goodbye
with my mouth while my words are
saying play me some loopy fiasco?

Their sense of dusk is uncanny.
That bridge is the last thing standing
between us and them. Between this
lunch and some sort of duck embryo
delicacy you might find
in the back pocket of any seven year old
attached to her rising market share
by a neo-classic iPod.

I have a new girlfriend I’d like you to
be. Stay right here, I’ll bring her over.