Pirate Song of the Roiling Smash

fig 33.68) Ninja Audition

"Swoops the music, the advice I've taken is honest advice. Swoops again, coming before the math, it's secret is still the trick of it," it's that Burma Shave song playing wildly from the choir above. Once there was a once before when we'd hang calendars from these doors and throw our darts. I remember drinking and sleeping and forgetting everything more often than I probably should. Burning our credit cards like we were kids trying to keep warm. We invented dinner just so we could talk about our taste in shoes.

The large frames leaning against the wall are as empty as villains'. Their mysterious embrasures now knowing only the wall's succor. Kitty posters are all over it and underneath some of the dry splotches of museum grade paint there's a little bit of yellowed tar. There's cut sail cloth in the aisles of this cold submarine, it's auger's lit. "Why didn't you see me? I've been here reading this whole time. I'm nearly done.

You're all roses, witnesses and roses, "The others may have been consumed but I was a monster long before this! But you're not, are you?"

"There's no keeping a clock once you think it's been broken," her dug out eyes seem worthless beside my narrow bed. The art of them has dwindled some in these last years but she still tries. Calling me out, "you old shit bag, get your shoes off my bed. Clean this seat while you're at it."

Shaken suddenly, "Dominic, Matisse in my grill, do you remember?"

"I'm a ghost, she's a ghost," I sing back sullenly. The thin shawl around my shoulders feels heavy. My hear feels heavy. Even the blue of my veins feels heavy. "You should roll me into traffic where my real friends are." This is about where our night usually gets us, singing to one another about soup and the utility of love.

I got that credit card song that's stuck in my head, each low payment's another or the same - Oh whoa oh no, I've got my beer on the sink and I'm doing the bitch - es dish - es, I can't see a goddamn thing and I'm wearing my new vision, If our angel - s were assholes and hang - ing from trees, Sway - ing beneath branches that are dusted with leave - s, They'd smile like full on roses with derision and with scorn, looking like bitter peaches buttered with poppered porn, Oh whoa oh no, my dishes are like wishes, there's one with every beer I've got a heavy hammer to blow them out this year

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)

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

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

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