We're laying these out where the ground is tender and our time has been frustrated, we're saying this.

fig.2.13)These two holes are beside an effortless description of a soulless machine

Let's lay waste to the comedy of modernism by watching poor Peggy, with her pistol of sadness and the sack of ape eyed tears that made of us each a burly home. Poor poor farm of malls shorn from the fields of food left at the end of town. Little box, aimless courageous little smoker smoking the oil, smoke.

To the house on the water I'm going and I won't be home soon

Going down on strangers,
it's written here on the back of my hand
The watch in the book is broken and that bird on my pillow is not
Gone around this whole ship and the waves in the water are wet too
I've crossed the sea just to tell you
That I'm out here swimming alone
Today's about over
I'm going down there
The way to the water is simple
Even if it's been a bit of a mess before this

Where there's ham and bricks of misogyny on the board of that tub there will be garlic in the stove nearby yet none on my tongue. It's hard to see you smile with your legs shaped like that. Let's see, maybe they're crushed a little bit like bone. Maybe your legs will rhyme like an open drawer now, I don't know.

There's young men still singing at your bar.

The band is knocking them dead, hello!

I'll sing to you too and then you'll never get old again.

There's this dead horse in the fallen balloons, the misshapen legs of the brown canal beside the breasts of the weak and these simple words I've used.

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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