Printing

And the stories, the threshold. Thrashing the manifold experiences.
Tourniquet, bruised, battered beat and broken.
Bastard closeness. Legitimate. Fleeing it all.
Escape and pendants. Penance.
Drifting dragons of ghastly breath hold height to their advantage.
She shifts like love’s storm. Strong-
holding herself over me. Us all.
Men bereft of qualms.
Fleeting, feet fight for survival.
fumes and sex invite ancient hollow haunts.
We are interesting creatures absorbed in the strangeness.
She has a power over me.
The power over all-
Ignited flame. Framed in a coffin.
Caffeine’s promise of a fire inside.
Spewing ghastly wrongness.
A ghost of thoughts and feelings.
fuck. fuckkkkkk.
Spilling out of me.
My wants, and the conflict and organisation of it all.
Pulled into the fore. Out into the cold.
Drifting wanting more.
and needling need. Less-
desire whelming. flowing drifting.
Draining, bailing falling. Frowning.
Mismatch feelings flit across your face,
as your perfect lips and the self centered shyness becomes us.
Anything I say becomes a sore.
and the sunlight that shone, errodes. Blinding.
senseless. Frail and sick skin slithers from underneath the rocks.
My sin, being washed in the shower. The pipes shudder as my calves do.
The stomach of my legs, weak as vomit and the promise of more befalls us.
Unable to carry anyone or anything more.
My sister, bumped head and the mirror of my war. Worries
unwelcome and seething out of my bleeding lips and I run.
Run nothing like some mafia lord.
the joy and mistakes found in the opening lines of someone elses song.
Primal frivolities. the importance of being ernest hemingway sends me to the dictionary while the rest of us search for something more complicated.
perhaps you don’t think the best of me.
Maybe there is no best and we’re both hollow. lost and shallow.
“Love just leaves you bruised” – Someone elses lines.
A drug, pies and pile. Play ploy
place, plow, blow.
blow me down.
Blow me up.
Blow it all
Blow
blow
low
lowly
lousy
drowsy
clown.
around.
frowned
words that end in E.
Not Ax.
plain
Plane
no plan.
and the box, pandora unplanned.
Baby baby baby.
Let me suck, I am terrible.
worthless. And the surreal, unrelatable to all else.
Goldilocks and the three bears.
while your honest imaginations flaunts and rebels.
The reasonabe worthwhile shared common feeling is gone.
Extended version of my lostness.
Seemingly beatless. Beating your own mind.
tum tum tum tum
This third eye- the shuddering acknowledgement of feet falling on pavements scattered scar. Broken glass and flasks of fireball. Cinder in cancerous snow.
The carousel of my understanable loneliness.
Blink.
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
blink blink
Form meets function.
music to my eyes and ears and nose and imbalance. feel my spectrum slung down.
Hung up on nonsenesesnessless.
HESS. HERMAN.
German.
cold cold hot.
hot hot cold.
cold hot cold.
Hot cold Hot.
Cold Cold Cold.
HOT HOT HOT.

A poe-
pose.
prose.
mmmmmmmmmmmm
frozen prosem.
nosing between your legs.
lost found alone and together.
Weather we like it or not.
the thought remains. eyes blue
pop culture reality.
Down and that makes you larger than life.
Clouds looking like the sway of more.
Hope helps us with our love in another way.
Keep keep all you bitches in fragmented framed wonderlands.
Larger than the life we didn’t and don’t lead.
Stray thoughts ruffle at feathers we never had.
Evolved senses of jargoned rudimentary skills.
Waffle holes that we fall into.
Like the trappings of scattered droppings.
attention spans falling like the loss of mountains.
time’s like:
lines of sight struggling.
Bumping up and along for no reason but to cancel.
Clients let me down. lower, below the waist and the knees.
Your bent, me on the floor, like a begging rock.
Alpha omega. Ancient reminders and memories paddle though us.
The language of the lost.
Lasting image of the soils.
grey lead of moments we’ve watershed.
Moments aloft. Lost- lasting fasting minimalistic.
Virluent, poison toxic reading, relished prism prism
continuity jargon. work word floss arse jason birthday jack of spades, bush mighty jauntily prism prison cordially invitaiton to the spectrum of monkeys writing skates born of shakespear and lousy fingers typing and massaging cunts flack born of pathogens that know knowingly nothing but riddance and dance and poise to strike jackson pollock bristling with abundant nonsense loitering behind every corner convention and marriage and cooking dinner as a man with no wants and needs but simple satisfaction, drug deals and pills and pretty woment and wam cclothes and uggly boots and free sprit and goose flesh dumplings and china town avid wants fly over heat and head and heart and hart and bull and ram and rapists wishing for books and a show from the kissing mother they never had but the hype is lost in the forrest and we forrage for gems amongst the standing sandpaper threashold that we use to wash our closed bodies. Bleeding as if a period of marketing didn’t influence, burn and waste our lives.
This visual energy. burn burn burn. Car’s fossilezed fuels no hearts for animals to lift and live and thrive and survive oin gloin biffer boffer bombour fitting like Winnie the Pooh. The split personality of Christopher Robbin. Calling and crawling from the 7:18, the song that re-writes history will be Dune. out to lunch without complimentary water. Rushing around visceral crayon lifestyle. Arts fragility is the failed science and effort of our childlike limiters limited passon. My math and matrix of home and hope and understanding like putty freezes and I dont run. No reply from gods or friends. All the strange shit i’ve said and done. Forgotten mostly. Pidgeons and hole and trees and thoughts and doves and loves. Hearts broken. mistaken and passed. Squashed and boiled. Cast to the side. ASIDE: I never wanted any of this I tell myself.
but who am I talking too> Two to. to to to two many times. Two. Many. Too. To.
as well. meaning shifts and shits on us. And we lay together, lovingly but not in love I suppose. Flummoxed.
Oh no. Motto. P- yeeah?

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