gold riddance to seismic norseisms, you down there!
not rhumb crumbs, nor trapezoidal thunder or small sn | ax
lord, i almost had myself fooled too, this
glorious river as metaphor for all
[at least thematically (;) he was centered]
child,
your tea conscience for the curiously paperback
into chicken ornamental braid
my o
my beginning is boyhood
absolved into greeting
I do not like the Romans, and I do not like Time.
I want none of this to be “new,” not at all. Give me
the margins, back, so I feel the heifer-pressure and give me
the power to organize the snake in straight white lines
and give me the chance to zoom in out for I be
shrimping as of late. There, isn’t that a little nicer?
gonna die. just a feeling. (tragical & pensionary). The 1866 copy of tuquoise visionary nights leaves much spin to be desired. Spin, being, of course, the new-fangled literary device that’s all the rage these days. Kids take it, run with it, up and down streets of Buenos Aires, fueled by the deranged cycle of whimsy and fever. I see them, their nutmeg circled skin, their bone-moist gaggles. Flags waving all over for the fútbol game later today: Artichoke & Beamer; Unto Us Your Magiks; Borgi- Corges; Squishable Interest. Every year the sharpener is a rage.
Your zubby token is not accepted here. One
agenuine pushup. Th*s
bright yello! bulbous diglet. (my toes)
2
I take a token of your gross blossoming gag (age). You!
Voluminous maraschino (&) my nascent bone. The wicker
Every place for us (intimate | consideration | explicit)
3
You “un” scared. You r heart. Frommish concerto plays
in bright red room, fading to dusky brick-worn co!eeshop and
peeky birds. My name aways almostly.
Epilogue
too bespoken | count my limb | physical relevance | this
mild age has a long token for gratitude. Her error
in ballet | forms of narrative besweptitude.
clink!this present indicative part
of being anti-capitulationist
sans money? no eat here. ripe