Every dream, every batshit angel has ever been

fig.098.62) DOOOM

Greasy popcorn, a timeless quiz and that song from the movie where they dance, everything is with us tonight. In this calamitous gown you say, "rose as a thorn and yet, still off without much use for sleep tonight."

While I say, "Unsure of any principle, the only channel my old scratchy eyeballs have for relating stupid through their backward lens is this calendar. See here, right below the knee. It is here that I struggle."

Our ballroom is in the back but our sofa might need to to be moved first. Homeless and insecure, my packages go elsewhere. My phone is a lump of plastic where there's been a ring of gold and several senseless warts to measure. I'm old witch after all and my knowing is frightened. It's bathed in the light of many suns but it doesn't sleep well either.

"It's here where February lurks, just 28 days and counting."

There's some fastness with the absorption and heat but then there are whole meals without any teeth. Reckless stories and riddles from behind the bar, my glass is full of all the known hurts and grim dust we've had. This freaky yesterday is going like some old bread found on the street. There's part of someone's side of fries and there's a mask that's in a green puddle. All of it is soon to be as gone as this pregnant friend of mine or the archduke of somewhere south.

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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)

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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