SCORDATURA i so wanted to get closer to hear her talk about feta noli me tangere'

PAGAN BABY AND THE FOUR IMMEASURABLES a broken heart creates a broken mind but the morning was so beautiful and perry was driving his black 55 cadillac convertible

THE CRYSTAL RABBIT MOON i too have noticed the birds have a confused look on their faces unlike the red buds no receipt for your dreams xeriscape of tushery the looming kablooey there is a world within you that survives uninterrupted banana gouda and the frans zwartjes side of the evening just getting to the rites of spring ovid wrote the cause of his exile was carmen et error a poem and an error what he did was nothing illegal but nevertheless worse than murder

more harmful than poetry. an old jagoff at the bus stop said you look like youre dead like you’re not living crown shyness whereby individual forest trees respect each other’s space leaving slender running gaps between the end of one trees outermost leaves and the start of anothers homer said nothing we can do is a whole lot better than it will take all we got mlhouse van houten reminds us the job of the poet is to say this one i guess lemony last half of springs gibbous softscape suns expressing my flesh lucid decapitation

CAULIFLOWER AND THE HORN OF THE RHINOCEROS morning looses its peignoir slipping into a chypre chemise and wants me to watch the shiver from the allegheny that slivers our rainstick spine in the winter a willing fellatrix in the summer the rest of the world is going to wake us up with their pain

before the prosciutto crumbled feta and tasseography paviours concupiscible propassion for plumbeous lithophones and miracle whiffs of lemon sand kisses from the dewing lips of parvarti across shivas face as he opens his third eye

SAME COULD BE SAID OF PROSCIUTTO can either think or eat 1000 day old gouda cant do both

RAJMA tomorrow tastes better when its had time to macerate in the fridge

LACHRYMOGENIC HANAMI sunflowers gone garam masala kleenex paneer can wait new folder autumn 2020

ALLIGATORS ETEN ALLES WAT HET MOERAS INGAAT

i think ive thought enough no too much now unlearning something everyday reveling in the rasasvada the taste of bliss in the absence of all thoughts blue lunar storm year the poet becomes the poem under the sturgeon moon. see yonder lo the galaxyë which men clepeth the milky wey for hit is whyt.

practicing being autotomized expuitized from the pendu et étranglé of humans a loss of the sense of whereness a happy continuation. a wonderful sense of the labial flames prolixious nothingness, (in dutch lucifer means match) bartlebying the flocculent pulvillio of the deipnosophists sialoquence instead

a chocolate chip cookie from prantls walking down ellsworth avenue poems and photos heaped for the trash i wont tell you whose the okavango is known as the river whose scamander never gets to the sea alligators eat everyone that comes into the swamp

SEMPER AUGUSTUS The difficulty is keeping coquelicot luteous smaragdine viridescence fulvous and caesious unbroken on the marver perennially abaxial thawing the timeous pogonip out my gizzards white bean chicken chili me last of the semper augustus the broken tulip the beautiful curse

PRENDS MOI the buildings on penn avenue block the sock off the allegheny the wind wants to bite my lips take me

NEBULOUS BLUES it’s the middle of winter the heights of his self secreting hyemation all of the 1000 day old gouda samples are gone the color of the skys afternoon brumation hands a minyan of yinmn

DALI PAINTS A POOL OF CHICKEN SOUP FOR ME TO SWIM IN a year of tie dye inkscapes and picassoesque faces say the experts 10,000 stars for every grain of sand some scientist counted and poets have tyromanced all the alothic and sapsto sitting shiva in their upper rooms wainscotting

the only thing left for me is louching into auricomus skeins of lambent apricity furfuraceous atoms flocculent in tea pink colustrums gyre and gimble

JACK AT 99 IMPROVISATION theyre all gone real gone the bee and the bop but im still here he said i never died i was never born it was just a sweet syringe full of empty gonging gonging g o n e satori and the sacred heart

UNUM SALTUM ET SIFFLETUM ET UNUM BUMBULUM i am a fool and a flautist if you’ve read your liber feodorum book of fiefs youll see that henry II gifted me hemingstone manor in suffolk and 30 acres not bad for a jester and all I have to do is show up once a year at christmas

and at the kings request i roland le petour the greatest of all fools one jump one whistle one fart

GOJI OG was up before the david lynch weather report realizing during this opium and spoiled lamb period that perry mason was right realism has it limits so was morticia addams life is more than thorns and singing vultures leaves seiche the butterfly home before the afternoons en papillote

TUESDAY mists dreaming of sleep yawn on the monongahela

ROCHE LIMIT crown of thorns corona spikes the nurses in rotterdam in wwII spit into the wounds of the german solders after beating his mom to death son told the cops this is what she gets open out a way for our imprisoned splendor to escape so from now on the reliance is on our own enlightened consciousness suggests mr goldsmith sunny with a chance of bricks

SUNDAY little birds girding under the car for their breakfast grains of rice amid the sillage from the chinatown inn

MAN IN DE MAAN trying to avoid the guy spitting in the street I almost stepped in puke

PET DE SOEUR french canadians find nun’s farts addictively delicious.

A THIN SLICE OF GENOA SALAMI IN THE MICROWAVE FOR 18 SECONDS IS BETTER THAN HOLY COMMUNION AND YOU DONT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT POOPIN OUT JESUS summer awaiting the carters lading through sphinx riddles of streets pictures of the floating world embracing the diablerie of impermanence and its pasquinades with a picnic of gerolsteiner oude gouda kaas and sturdy boots as ghosts were rumored to wander the glaciers after dark for the layover in arcos what van gogh said of rembrandt could be said of summer that's no easy occupation one must have died many times to paint like this this continuity this ukiyo

herring in cream sauce nut rolls trying to decipher autumns psyche sketched on a wrinkled cocktail napkin distilfinked from bonnacons sabrage not to be confused with the shroud of turin elvis was reading about when he died on the toilet and that’s how summer ended this year the rest is my eucatastrophe of ochlophobia and the peristeronic

SOVEGNA VOS the cashiers laughed at my my small stuk of ginger

CAN MR LYNCH COME OUT AND PLAY sorry your life does not fit into the painfully confusing box you have created for yourself though serenity is interested in you heaven likes one of your photos always too late for the parade too early for the party of the invisbilists the sirimiri of angels drams flutes and coupes soughed door to salvation gate to heaven beyond arcos squat between reality and dreams so i refuse the rsvp to join you with your

tersorium pessoi chugi for the hyraceum of the worlds fucking lunacy wishing you annus mirabilis vipers dram let the divine harmonies appear as you disregard the evidence of sight hearing tasting touching smelling In dutch bang means fear whimper means eyelash so old possum in a world with no beginning no end not with fear but an eyelash