11.12.10
Radioactive green, scum numbers, digitally equipped to help me
slip, away this Monday.
Morning.
Boring.
Festive reflections, missing one beat, led red light, blink. green, blink, blank, blink purple, blink blue, blink, green, blink blank.
Dildo halo around my head has tanked, sank to bottomless pits of coffee, vampires and do’s and donuts.
Double glazed, fired Harry Potter in a field of bush, my tush a sweet sight in sunlight.
Blow to hell, sell to the love less bidder. Hit her with the bible, tell her. she’s a gift of gawd, her decree to me, when she, kiss me goodbye.
In my eye, I had to wonder why,
I didn’t see it coming.
Down the line of fire.
Retire my ear drummer, needed,
before I exposed my ass and sashay you outta here.
Be careful, not to pull it too hard,
the yard is not that big.
Maybe I could ride in
you mustang, drinking orange tang spiked cocaine and baking soda.
Jimmy Hendrix was no fool, you, me just us and them in outer spacious, races.
Can’t seem to figure us out.
About what is all the fuss in steers, beers and a political processes meat lunch slices.
Thrown diced onions, in my bunion, hinder my prog rock, tonka toys with big wheels.
Heal my cold sores under my nail, pail to compare to Mahogany Frog’s dog in Dallas.
Dash hound, bound to be convicted and dissected for shooting J.R.
The cat in the hat passed the Bar, gawd help the dope in the dogs arse.
Black Caddy trunk, the cat is a hat worn by upper classed women.
Social lights, in a fight for the best dressed cowboy.
Tight pants, and pointed boots, made from baby breaths leather.
Under weather balloon, croon to Bob Dylan’s high n dry poetry, equipped with alfredo sauce and wieners.
Beginners.
Can see, me, in the invisible snow.
Falling from the ground to hit the sky, so high on barbiturates.
Missed the sky, passed the stars, ended up in the bar.
Across the street.
Bit the tit of a stripper, violet skippers across her cornea, buy me a credit card.
So far it seems the cat in the yellow hat, has stopped liking the fact.
She can lick her ass,
Sat stoically, staring off,
into the great void only felines can see.
Communing with spirited stories, of bullies with penciled in eyebrows, cows and crowbars, blogs and spelling mistakes.
Fake my contempt for cheezy day time drama, called relationships.
Sank to the bottom of the sea of me and my inability, to please.
I think I need to get up and brush my teeth and speak.
Of what I did to end up in this prison, my poetic vision, called planet earth.
Swerve to the center of my shitzophrinea.
Be damned the phone is ringing, singing more masturbation and procrastinating, invading, my bones marrow.
Narrow it will be for me, to meet, death tolling bells.
Set me in the cave, with grape fizzing popcorn, batman’s underwear is too big to get me published.
Push up bras, bleached beaches of blonde carrots in the sun.
Shrivel a sense of calm lip balm,
palm tree ease my dementia.
Amnesia in my pizza, Jackson Pollok spits paint chips in the shit canned laughter.
Tin can alley in hell’s kitchen.
Come over and love my work on your back muscles of music,
Sweep and eat beats or bleat out the sax to max me out of
any kind of romance with tomatoes.
Who invade bed critter with tacky bed sheets between vaginal wall of moist moss like
word association.
The world of mixed messages and body order to confuse the masses.
Two rockets ships sprint to the finish line of throughly bread rye loafs with vegan margine.Tangerine was his temperament when I ask for his hand in an ass wiping compassion.
Cartoons of insults thrown at the stage, stupid bitch with her bullshit.
Twisting this way and that, what the fuck, so what, so smart, scrabble games are useless.
Mind games on the other hand, can totally fuck you up, this side to hello, what the fuck am I doing in the loony bin full of coins.
Nickels and dimes, is that all I’m worth to you.
Huh, buck and scream, steam engines of the five and dime diner on the corner, call you a whore.
Pink shoes, red lifesavers and tic tacs, between yellow teeth asking for spare change of cloths.
My skin to thin, to sit here with you on this first date to negotiate, our relationship.
Shit.
I’m ill equipped for this.
Eying the back door to your insecurities, rebounded from the rim of the net,
You bet I’m on the run from any kind of commitment.
My fart or if you want to grace it as art, far to demanding, and standing alone on this ridge call false creative energy.
Go out and get a real job, lobby intellects tell me, to generate electric to the grid and rid this rat tailed fool of a girl.
Who whips and chases insults to abuse the audience, in defense of heat sensing missiles call words.
Culture is a vulture when it come to consummation art and sensorshit.
My cat in my lap, a brown tabby in a caddy, picking up ducks in a dump truck full of vowels and nouns..
Adjective agitate in a blender of mixed emotions and quotations.
Nice.
But too young.
Don’t tempted with your youth.
Your eye and mine meet.
Look and walk away from the birth of a new idea.
Ten pages to day, I gotta write.
Fight.
Spit.
Scream.
Lean to the republic, rusted nails protruding from the wood in the ceiling.
Some novel idea this would be.
Nope not yet, are ya liking yet, my squandering of time, no wonder I never go out, or get asked out.
Hiding in basement, boxes guitars and cat litter, ambient beats, meat and avocado's living in condos.
Peg city is far from Toronto, where I used to be, living, on the lake shore.
Exploring stormy mists of the lake of out stretched hand, murder under my bedroom window.
Drive bys, china town and Spadina, don’t forget Queen streets meet, what the hell is the cat doing up on there?
Dinner bowling ten pins in the living room.
Four weeks and and ten pages, vowels, nouns, adjectives, recipe for insanity.
Sorry about the blood, on the back seat of the spit atom about your moonscaping and scraping concrete in the middle of a hot afternoon, amonst dandylions, growling and grilled cheese sandwiches.
Give me a hit of acid like lemon skin to peel anxiety free from my glut, this stupid on line performance.
Dance with me.
Petty high-school, junior star trekking conventions, interventions from Saturday afternoon cartoons.
This is an embarrassment, a harassment to any kind of half resented literary toilet bowl. coffee table scroll.
Jesus I need a roll of twinkles to or Pinky to amuse me.
Fuck it I’m going to play my guitar, meditate, in order to generate some kind of brain power steering unicorns puking rainbows in my self confidence as a write.
How I loth and lost it.
Ok the guitar, at least that is some what less of a head ache.
All though Mateo Carcassi is a bitch to play, which is to say maybe it’s pain to gain some kind of character.
Numbers in my blunder through life.
Over and over again number 23, allegro, twelve over eight, P.I.M.A.C, contort and distort. wrists and knuckle buckle and scream.
Two hours a day I pay to train, like a sport, my friend snorted.
Self discipline?
I decline to comment and the moment.
Quebec Mahogany, high tension, did I mention?
Bloody finger tips, and grips stretch between frets.
Up and down the scales weigh of my lack of dates.
Introverted?
Bullshit incompetent and converted into worlds of words, notes, paint and metronome.
Drone out my life as it breezes by like hot silent curry farts.
Hammer on hammer off, karate kid got nothing on me.
God the remake was a sad old man wearing plaid.
Jesus maybe I should visit a dating site, I might get laid.
for once.
Time to go to the store and purchase a cucumber.
To bad it’s not summer, I’d ride my bike, don’t like being call angry dike.
Damn only four pages.
Are you bored yet?
Set the table.
Pork and beans.
Pig tails and used condoms in relish jars.
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