PEONY IN GOLD STUCK
bouquet, amazing. table, amazing. story laughs, amazing.
but the wretched little one is prepped to kill everything.
I couldnt hold my ear to that, but theres aliveness in something
around the sand, so creepy that its a mouth love. so like november.
and so much fun to whirl and sputter cracks into the if body,
throwing your nettle over and over and over. dont tear your heart
for beetle latch, and i can be remembered like a bow-arrow allowed
swimming lessons. and drips pride.
jaguar pelt on my feet, jungle socks, running the white arrow marathon,
full of cock and power, singing loads and villages into marble and smoke.
the beach is a flat of slow smoke. when I giggle there you explode. hes lived
in the ocean and so has shut everything into a lead egg, remember, a boy
is not allowed in the passerine. and this evening is dread. stop the heaven from
mote. and remember heaven is cough.
if its ok to sit rivers on the deli, dont suck.
mansions grew from religious bread and mutated to crashed hips.
theres my cousins porn laugh.
and his bridge laugh.
this guy calls his depression a slack anvil hum, and droids for gophers.
he has no table thats not portal-ready, and available for me to invent
for another gummy pond holding
theres right there a sister. theres right there a sister
with garnets in place of her bags. and whipping kelp
hair onto my table she slathers a purple tongue
onto this bagel - bagels - to convice me that our
plan was absolute and absolutely unsoundly. the brick layer again. pulling out vintage
lice combs from beneath my brothers circumstance, slight and of a frosting air. I look one
more at the little bloody seeds, the furred discs, and set the filth and fruit to grievance.
and still before, grass, brittle and saccharine, not involved in violet hair, sprouted deep
on the sister bags and believed harder. skin cracklins and halos groveled on the edge
of old leatherback. I stumbled, drunk, through the grove at minniehaha falls, crept to the
base of the water, saw only bitch dollars and mumbling drifted off again. no a little rug store
now invents.
what do roses
have to do
for a new student of
removal?
impotent as life was for the sparrow,
scroll breathes plastic milk bottles.
jacob and i sat on the edge of a dubloon and discussed our hatred of special.
it wasnt a waste,
but it was terrible and wooden.
nothing is the most irreversible besides a disease, you
just pinpoint it and thrust.
the groveness slaps out our eyes and jacob takes a slug of the river.
this river, is not, alive, eyes dart, its never, been, alive, drums faster,
governors acorn that is the nuance of minneapolis, hardly as future as my new
ghosted brain. and had I touched the bare ground as a fucked storm
brand sizzled doors wide into, there’d have been no pine ridge remoteness
to respect, no sight yet of the forever white dog of a trillium.
my bloods now in pockets, leaving space between them to stuff stuffs. nummy.
in brinking out. and hwo can you remember to meet the man in hmong depths. hepatitis orange
fields. and dendritic sara words her flanels wrongs .
Ill bread here and wait for the noice shec;ao,ed os bracl birbpim mp mp