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Thursday, June 9, 2011


I lack blood sports in vein
planes charleston past theses windows
its not so glourius entrenched in stories seems
or as much as it should be
when my hands have finally stopped shaking
and my mouth is left celebrating a defeat with decapitation of small antiques
dawn rapes my sensory feilds in the warning
blades dig into heels on the street
and the only thing I wish to heal is my gun powder burns
or my left nostrel,for it seems as though it may collapse in a collage of blood shed
not from receinct activity
I just have mathematical equivalents to the amounts of idiots
blips on the radar screams
good lord im lost in this scene
breath is more delicatly seen in the face of wild anatomical beings
clean hands: clean electricution chambers
it seems as though were facing a breakthrough in post apocolyptic rhetoric
two man enter one man leave shit
excuse me while I open the vines to these 60 degree mornings in fullerton puffing on this cannabis which is too obvious to be peeped
decrees are for horse jockeys and moms with to much time on their hand
the plan keeps ending but the same course keeps happening
so champaigne it is
I still think about her like a convict thinks about jail
pour me another mimosa

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