I am writing from my new home, sitting on the kitchen toilet.It's finer here. I've left most behind. Bells and the people whoring them. All I've kept is my broken hammer paper weight. It waspresented by a seamstress.

Continents are merging back, probably lonely for long. It will belarge when they merge. One large flag, it will be finer.

I am loving the art of one. She is an uncharted. Long ways backshe was tearing for ache of sudden plain. Taking needle point tostream for comfort. I said to her in art, that she must unexpect.That she must reappear without ever once being. She painted me inoil and laughed. Better than tearing or that of needle point,even at sacrificial art of mine.

I've painted a flag on the kitchen floor, for maybe quickeningthe merge. I wrote Anthem on the toilet plate. This pleasurepopper came to place a new on at my ring. When he saw Anthem,yes, he reddened lecture about flag and continental drift. I knowpleasure poppers, stuck more needles than a seamstress.

So for beginning time at my new home, I found Eastland dirt on mykitchen flag. I've put it all aside for my children.

We subsist on corner dust
like vague gifts that await use
Never looked at with level eye
Once in time lowered for public show
Their women strum our strings
Composing chords dishonest
to the ears of children
We are put in rooms with floors bare
so that steps can be charted
from shelf to door
Some of us have turned to windows
that turn to pastures
so that they can see
My mother is a gun
they use to go free

We wish for extinction
But We have no substitution
In a world inspiration free
Where all they have is We

Every day it is brief
Believers make their way to the praying grounds
Heretics lay asleep, most without a spouse
Collectors of waste tally up the count
The crowes take advantage of any edible debris
Busses warm their engines
Children smile in appreciation of this golden hour of time
Where rumpled sheets are shoved to floor
And early rays are blacked out by cotton pillows
Dogs receive a morning walk by an owner to the anonymus
He's whistling "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard"
I join in
The moment is gone

WHY I AM LONELY AS A GHETTO FLOWER
FIRE HYDRANT WOMEN TAKE OUTDOOR SHOWERS
STONED AS A BOULDER
LONGING TO HOLD HER
AS THE GUITAR PLAYS THE PIANO FOR THE VIOLIN
AND THE STONE TOILET WISHES
IT WAS MADE OF PORCELIN
INJECTIONS OF JOY IN THE FORM OF TEQUILLA
PRAYING TO A COCKROACH WITH MANTIS FEVER
TANGERINE COLORED NICOTINE STAINS
TATTOOED ON THE INNER WALLS OF HER BRAIN
SERPENTINE SWIMMING IN TURPENTINE WATERFALLS
SUCKED DRY BY ALCHOL THIRSTY GAUZE
LONELY AS A GHETTO FLOWER
FIRE HYDRANT WOMEN
OUTDOOR SHOWERS

The gloves of love
on hands slender
Running down naked
bodies tender
Wool scarves penetrating
low body crevices
Heavy breathing
Air cool mint
Smoking frozen potent lime
She's good to me
like sandals in the wintertime

Some alley cat got his nail caught on this paper bag
It made an awful rustle
that made me jump back in Scare
I had been smoking Hashish & had to fret
for sound and soul
While readjusting my Leather, I noticed that I had
made it back to the South Side. The mouth side.
whEre I had cooked dreams & took drugs.
Not long back in time, but straits of water through the rutter.
I tried to make more sense this time. I tried to make
more sense this time. adapting Northend views.
Views on alley & alleycats...

'WE SERVE SCUM!'

Her father was a glass drummer
He was her trans-parent
She would fetch his sticks
and she would polish his crystal balls
They hired opaque servants
to stand in the way of light

In a tunnel by the freeway
I lay

Piecing what once they called
my Love

Not that of Kinship
Nor that of Freedom

Caressing what once they called
my Love

pollen breazes through my hair
the high grass folds in prayer
a sun field horizon frowns
at the glistening lips of the waterwell
blood streaming sparkles
as i stand tall
over the dogtooth violets

Whistle me through your valleys
I don't wish to wake anybody
Harp your fingers through me
in terraces of thought
I see you undressing
tailor Divine
clothing make Her of mine
Autumn on horizon sets
Rustling leaves of golden hair
I stare
at fair blonde harp as you
true to Ars Poetica
Wishing we were twins
so that I could be so beautiful
I life ins lumber smile
to images of gentle You
Serene as snow on winter tongue
Cool as whistle desert hung
For echo walking stick I need you
Wandering through your valleys
Shoes in workman hands of mine
for I don't wish to wake anybody

I am writing due to headaches. You once said that they can becaused by many things, usually dehydration. That may very well bethe case, since I am in the desert. (See, there's only one "s".Two "s"'s means you want more, than it's dessert. Yum!)Headaches can come from stress and constipation, and dental care.
Every now and then, I think about the war. Every now and then, Ithink about the war. How we'd sit crouched under the window intattered uniform that our wives stitched. We'd wear boots andbelts and beards. And we had a code. Our wives would beat ourcode, on the carpets that hung out our terraces. Because wewanted change. Change in fight, so bad we wanted. But one mustcollect much constant, to acquire change. Our constant was bluefrom the beatings they gave us. So blue, that our wives had tostop code, to take our care. But they were to be gone. Thoughwith our belts and pride, but gone. Leaving us with beards andcandle-wax. And our code, which we had no strength to pound.
You, do you remember yourself? code: Labrador. Your fight to saydifference in country of same. For you, all was code. The soupbowl under the spoon, propped up by the table on the floor, ofthe flat...all the way to the ground. So that they could not dareto comprehend. Not your beatings of the code, nor the code ofyour beatings. Not your beatings of the code, nor the code ofyour beatings. Lulu must remember, for she was once one of them.
Besides being you wise, words from your difference often rhymed.Much against same and constant, can you remember? You coded:"Dogs in the green/aren't what they seem/There's more totheir life/ than chasing birds/and barking at all that is free"
I hope you can remember, because I nervous often. Thinking myimagination cropped a war to my eyes. So that excuse may be madeeasy to the constant life of changing nothing. I hope you aremore than just boots, and that it is you who coded: "Thetail of the boot/is at the front of the boot/ unlike the tails/ofmany other things"

code: Moon

CIRCLES ARE OFTEN BROKEN BY SUDDEN RAYS OF REASON. I REMEMBERONCE, WHEN NEEDLES FROM A RUSSIAN FEMALE'S SMILE, DRIPPED TOGROUND. THEY HAD TO ARREST HER. I WATCHED THEM, FROM INSIDE THESMOKE SHOP, PUT HER IN WHAT SEEMED TO ME A MOBILE LAVA-LAVA. ICOULDN'T BE SURE, FOR THE SHOP WAS REAL SMOKEY. (SMOKEY REACHEDEXTREME HEALTH WHEN I WAS OVER BANGA-RANG, BUT THAT'S OFF.)ANYWAY, THAT MORNING I HAD TOO MUCH OF THE MOON, SO I CAN NOT BESURE IF ANYTHING FROM THEN TO NOW REALLY OCCURRED.
PLACES ARE SELLING OFF THEIR PEOPLE IN ORDER TO SAVE UP FORRIVERS. THE PLACE I USED TO COME FROM, SOLD ME ABOUT EIGHTEENYEARS BACK, AND PURCHASED A NON-ACTIVE CREEK (IT'S INEXPENSIVETHAT WAY.) THEY SAY THAT WITHIN SIXTY YEARS, PLACES WILL BE SEAS,AND PEOPLE WILL BE AQUA-SIZED. HA! I'M NOT AFRAID TO BE AQUA-SIZED.BUT I'VE GOT THIS NEIGHBOR, A PREGNANT ELK ONE, AND HE'S EATINGEGGS WITHOUT SLEEP. THE ELK ONE IS NEGOTIATING WITH A NEIGHBORINGSUN KEEPER, TO CUT THE STRING, AND LET HIS SUN FALL INTO THE SEA.THE ELK ONE SAYS THAT THIS WILL DRY THE SEA DRY. HE EVEN SINGESHIS WATER BEFORE HE SHOWERS, SO THAT HE STAYS TO BELIEF. HISHALLS ARE FILLED WITH PENCIL LINES THAT ADD TO SHOW FRAME:ENDLESS SEA MEETING ENDLESS SKY WITH A HALF DROWNED CIRCLE SUN INCENTER. HE MEANS NO HARM. HE'S JUST SCARED TO BE AQUA-SIZED. IF IWAS AN ELK, I'D BE SCARED, TOO. BUT BEING HARE I KNOW THATCIRCLES ARE OFTEN BROKEN BY SUDDEN RAYS OF REASON.

NEXT SEASON I GET TO FLEW TO ABBADON. IT'S A PRIZE I WON FROM THEBIG LOGIC QUIZ. IT WAS A REAL CINCH. THEY KEPT ASKING ME ABOUTOLD. AND I WAS THE OLDEST. I WONDER HOW ABBADON IS AROUND THISSEASON.
WASTE, MY NEPHEW, CELEBRATED HIS TENTH BIRTHDAY LAST DAY. "ADECADE OF WASTE" READ HIS CAKE. I WAS AROUND WHEN THEPARENTS CHOSE A NAME. I SUGGESTED DILL, BECAUSE WHEN SPELLEDBACKWARDS, IT MAKES NO SENSE. BUT THEY WENT WITH WASTE, SAYING,IT BUILDS CHARACTER. I USED TO BUILD CHARACTER, IT WAS GOOD PAPERAT THE TIME. BUT NOW-A-YEARS CHARACTERS ARE JUST A SUB-INGREDIENTIN HOUSE-HOLD CHEM. SERVANTS USUALLY HAVE CHARACTER, SO WE USE'MFOR INTERTAINMENT. THIS STUDY SAID THAT SOMETHING IN THECHARACTER MAKES YOU LOSE SENSE AND CONTROL OVER LOGICAL MOVE. ITHINK THEY MOVE REAL NICE. SEE, WHENEVER THEY HEAR A CRY, OR ASCREAM, OR A SHOT THEY MOVE REAL NICE. BUT IN ORDER FOR US TOKEEP OUR LOGIC AND OUR INTERTAIMENT, WE HAD TO PURCHASE A SCHOOLOF RED-BREASTED FEMALES. WE'D GIVE THEM LIQUID AND THEY'D STARTTO CRY, AND SCREAM, AND SHOOT ALL OVER. AND THE SERVANTS MOVEDREAL NICE. NOT LIKE US.

THE SUPERLATIVE LADDER WHEEL IS WALKED BY ANCIENT LOVERS OF LOGIC.IT WAS WHEN COEXISTENCE. LACKING PHONICS I SCREAM TO DRAWATTENTION, AT ANY COUNT, AND TWO MORE CUPS OF MOON. RAAAAAH! IT'SVOLCANIC. LOGIC AROUSING HIGH. TURNING WHEELS OF LAVA AND THINK,SIMULATING INFINITY. BEFORE PARTS BECAME PLACES (NOW SEAS) THEREWERE ONES. LOVERS. THEY COEXISTED. ENTERING AND EXSITING EACHOTHER, OVER MOON SHOTS, THEY WERE FORMED, AND THEY FORMED. NOTIME OF WAY COULD COMPREHEND SUCH STEPS. IN LADDERS AND CIRCLES,AS GRAND AS REASON'S IGNORANCE. THEY WALKED UP AROUND, AND AROUNDENTERING AND EXSITING EACH OTHER, OVER MOON SHOTS, THEY'D LAUGH,ABOUT DIMENSIONS AND A FUTURE US. SHUNNING FRAME. KNOWING LOVE. IAGAINSTED THAT OF THEM, WHEN FORCE FED THROUGH BRAIN. BUT I WASSTAR, FAR FROM MOON, COMPREHENDING NO MORE THAN PEBBLES ON SHORE.HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO WHEEL, ESPECIALLY ONE SUPERLATIVE. SO IAGAINSTED BELIEF. AND SO BELIEF PUT ME IN A REASON CELL.

HE LAID ON FLOOR. WITHIN CHALK CIRCLE. CLOTHED IN NONE. WE WERETO COEXIST. I HAD EARED OF HIS BEING (BUT DOUBTED STARS TO BETRUE, BEING THAT WE HAD COEXISTED, AND OUR DISJUNCTION WASTHROUGH NEEDLE-POINT.) I STOOD ON GROUND. HE LAID A FINGER'S WAYABOVE. I TOOK OF BOARDS FROM BACK, FOR THEY WERE HEAVY HANGINGAND BELONGED TO THOSE I AGAINSTED. STRIPPED OF FRAME, I LAID. ONPAPER PILES. I GREW BEARD AND STARED AT HIS INTENSE HOVER. I USEDTHE PAPER TO BUILD CHARACTER. HE INTENSED CONTINUALLY, ONCE INTIME LOWERING HIMSELF. I'D STAND AND TRY TO SPEAK TO... BUT HEIMMEDIATELY ASCENDED OVER CIRCLE, INTENSING SILENT MOAN. I'D GROWBEARDS OVER IGNORANT LIMBS. I'D BUILD CHARACTER TO STATIONARYTHOUGHT. FOR WINDS AND WINDS AND WINDS, WITHOUT EVEN ONE MOON...