Diary: flight
All the brutal days throwing around my wish to stay in control of the visual part of my brain.
coming out, she threw it against the brown word and talked about the dating life.
“i was shot with love from the bathroom. it was a conspiricy." a sensible pair makes sandy teeth forever with mean habits. comfy mean.
now welcome to empty times. two nights of my life are bearable. I’ve experienced one that i remember and it was rusted.
it is spread out on my neighbor’s ghostlimb beach. and in came the surrealist years. me and volumes; I had been dressed but away she came, in a fist of love.
I could BOOTLEG this. sell it as the opposite of eating.


and her arms were beautiful. she is young so her skin was soft. where are the charming nine messages i imagined her whispering into the telephonebox? that i haven't figured out yet.
what it means.


phones drive boxes up - down
the avenue - wait corregated
push forward the seat, the
now calypso wheels - and rose
white line stained bank
and terry cloth light buzz
hot and boozing - shoeless
intrest river walking +
wine - small backpack hole
- living dying - house back
keying + morning reading +
headlight creeping - corkscrew
jumping - transsexual high stepping
on creak board rituals - ghosts of
spite and feathers - scuffing
pocket lending
sideways head bagging -
what wind is trying to do
- unwanted gasing and money
social bills - check in metal
shadows of blue and breasts
- covered skeleton carting -
stealing costumed yo-yo future
fighters - all nighters of pepper
bands and free everything -
man and women
blamed for the fall of petrified
vision - waiting on a friend
that speeds my organs to
fire - darker and darker -
longer and longer until i
dont ever go to sleep and she
never comes to her seat - she
never comes for the movie and
never answers the phone box
- even the box echo, out rings
the whistle idiot! to die a life
less! the back of
your lover's smallest violence -
the protection of lines of words without
recognition of the threat.



August?
Ohhhhhhh, to love someone in this fortieth revolution of summer. No, its leftovers are lusting death.
(be polite to the time station)
summer's hot and imitating. I miss my friend shell. switchblade, promise me a better grave, be a lot like love.
like a tack that holds a snakeskin to my white wall. execute me on the
bed. Bringing Love all back home to my house, so that she can hold on to my crotch fire.
lay down on the window with me. its stronger than you think. get me.

I'm really down, so you can smile like a quiche, spinach teeth.
i'm accepting puppeteers without any experience. my strings need some repair. i've tried simmering
them at night in the snakes oil you mailed me. but the chimney only produces quarter owls.