wut u got

that can hit the spot

a my not

givin a shit

bout wut u got?

my petaloid scrips

ovoid liaison

with suasion

that trips round

the supersedural afterdamp

of mechanical stupor siezure

giving residence

beyond reticence

to the surround bound

irenicon benefactor

whose corresponding throngs

of catalytic co-existence

ooze choral fronding

sexagons that

enlarge the discharge

of cowardice done

up as critiquing

to speaking from the

smash up

so u can surpass

yr nichehunt,

i.e. the bout we in’s out

once u shake

yr tiny worthquake

n get comfy

with the spins

a my inverst humvee.

i’m so radically peaceful

i hereby decree

the haddock be released

into yr skull

so u can testify

agenst yr cavalier

n feel the onslaught

yr reel-n-yawn wrought

hookin shad with dad.

water envies me

my anti-clotter alacrity.

i’m a bridge to flow wear.

i’m a ridge wence rings

the navaho prayer

that the springs

of laval insipience

might gush redolent

in lush enbabblement

n morph a schist

a green between

the fist n the fite.

my hindsight is

a kind light

that shines the future

on wut u were

n lets u sit back

n enjoy

the signs that

all along yr groove’s

throned to deploy

yr bawl song

so u cd quit wack

n bong an

improvier behoove

to glim that then again

yr been’s has been.

i’m 360 degrees

a mixt free

midst the words n the trees.

my vietnam war

is yr be it no more.

i say the grilled vagina

of the prophet shd

get off it

n find a spillway to wet

that the pack

may catch a buzz

from my backway scratcher


i’m a genus, bb,

of lastronomical proportions,

n my penis lady

is so inane she cannot be recorded.

i got so much nuthin,

i shan’t be dyin on the vyin.

my bedraggled luvin’s

too ramifyin to defyin.

my rhyme’s so complicalculated

it’s gonna take

a million venerated monkeys

banging on a billion

clunky catafalques

at the leading trillion

scattered shrines

of cabala gone pro

to bleed the skillions

of convo-looted clatter

out its uprooted a-regimen.

like, i’m the sole denizen

of never been

so good lucky

suckin the edgy allude

out my oblique crasserole.

i applaud yr efforts

even as i slap yr gods

with deaf words.

it’s not that i’m cruel,

it’s just i must die

in every letter

to end the shot rule

of the tentative abettor.

so let’s go.

pet my crow

n we’ll separate

the spill from the nosey

til our stride

reparates the countryside.

go on, foe fawn.

come closer n i’ll

shed my minerva syndrome

onto yr quarrelsome otioser.

my kidskin’ll

serve ya

bred n wonder

til u foam at the crouch.

alwz keepin it simple:

a litl rippl

seepin out

the rainfall maze

is all i need

to call my scrum seed

to sprout

some middle spittle.

ain’t shit git

in my way

cuz i flit like

a ricochet

of tra la la

off the cha cha cha

a my tremolo mama.

wut belongings?

my girl’s got

three thongs

for excessive night-errandry

n a recessive pair

a merle wings

(n i barely got her

cuz “where we?” is hotter)

n anything more

than that’d

render my fatuity

troubadour trite distracted.

ethnically, i’m a poplar,

but drop a doppler

on my fine fettle

of thermogenetic


n u’ll find traces

of the faces

of the unsettled

murmur club

that intermarried

over endless harried

winters with

their own outlying


that generated

regurgitating beatifying


hellions n squatters

into the fruit bat

dramaturge at the

center of my

tormenter preventer

that waylays

the trauma of

the newst

as it plays

with the clutch cat,

both em rollin thru

my geranium soul broth,

such that…

to my gratisfaction

run the gizzards of the lorelorn

(forcefed the porcupines of war porn).

n my swiss miss black son

is gayer than the frizzy canard

u were mournin born in

(yet can’t stop stormin like its dentiformin).

in the set of show sets

there ain’t one i wdn’t finger

(O the jasmin squashes i shall sling her!).

keep yr little red core sense,

i’m here n now to let my nowhere linger

(conqueress, may i untress thy blandishing ur?).

i stik the rhyme

in the occiput

n mix it all up

n i kik the time

in the subtle butt

n trix it all up

n i lik the slime

off the funky strut

n slix it all up

til u fix yr spine

to my loco nut

n we pix it all up

Lazy Fair

i don’t have the time

i can’t find my mind

i just misst the sign

everything is fine

i’m not made to shine

a line’s a line’s a line

beware the other side

tomorrow will be kind

so she sed

now she’s legally dead

it’s soft inside the snub you’ve never felt

the greatest danger is the cry for help

it’s their right to choose

someone’s got to lose

who’m i to accuse

it’s just a litl bruise

they’ve a good excuse

it’s not per se abuse

once it’s on the news

things will then improve

so he sed

as they drilled thru his head

illusion lends at interest to itself

conviction sleeps upon a crooked shelf

lazy fair

layin there



past repair

lazy fair

don’t u fuck with me

so what u disagree

i’m all that i can be

yr far as i can see

my code’s autonomy

pride and privacy

violence hides in we

love is slavery

so he sed

all alone in his bed

lazy fair

layin there



easy scare

lazy fair

Somewhat My Sister’s Keeper

She smells some elemental sadness in the wires,

Unknown restrictions on conflictual desires,

Selling securities in fenced-in wild fires,

Yet still she makes it thru the day.

Promise me

You won’t keep your word;


Is what’s overheard.

Take it back

If it’s all you meant;

The thing you lack

Is the only thing you’ll ever get.

As her entanglements adoring deliquesce

Paternal waters into all she can’t possess,

She floats her sorrows down a love-sick SOS,

Yet still she never has to pay.

Laughing with

Is laughing at.


A technocrat.

People dance

Cuz they can’t let go;

Your only chance

Is the only chance you’re gonna blow!

Stuck on the letter

Stuck in the shredder

She’s addicted

To conflicted


Crazed with discretion

Crazed by profession

Of unstable

Love unable

She’s her obsession.

Lockt in her breathing room of gainful injury

She hones projection on first-person third degree

Full knowing nothing comes of letting nothing be,

Yet still she says it’s all okay.


Is the last hurrah;

Life’s a cry

In a camera.

Where you’ve been

Is the place to be;

The show you’re in

Is the only show you’ll never see.

Ah, Summer in the Apps

so i went to the bank of yummy,

n they didn’t approve me for anything,

so i went to the bank of yummy,

n they quikly approved me for everything,

so now i’m a dangerous, passive slut,

but i miss the time before the deth of my scent;

it’s not that i’m attacht to boiling up,

i just crave an harmonious punishment.

any port

in a storm.

i’m so crazy about my holes.

this here’s wut i’d say if i had a movement

in the age of collective estrangement:

i’m the new blak power commando,

n i enjoy the drama of being sand, yo.

cuz ain’t we all in the hospital

under someone else’s name,

dying to be stowed

in the beaker of the bellowing brain?

watch me sleep dance

til i get financed.

thx, bb, but i’d rather take yr time.

dear ded dad,

can i be yr ad?

cuz i’m so overwhelmed by my need to be in decline.

i almost

broke the mold,

then i felt so bad, i broke the mold.

O pounded beautiful ass to mouth machine,

i’m singin to u like the litter to the rain:

“it’s cool my breth makes u sick cuz u can’t make it stink,

but if u won’t suk on my dik, don’t suk on my drink.”

i want my mom

to pet my bomb.

i’m a fatal mess in reverse.

Ah, summer in the apps.

i blank on yr face as i fill in yr lap.

my conscience is so clear it’s not even there.

wut about my access to yr wheel chair?

life’s an idea whose time has cum

so don’t look now;

it’s no way all over agen

for the chicken with its hed stuk on a cow.

it all depends

on oxygen

from the cavern of the unemployed onslaught of dirty triks.

sho me mine,

i’ll sho u thine,

then get the fuk outta my kid cuz it’s just for kiks.

Learning Man

simon dramatized the crime

simon mechanized the climb

simon monetized the dime

n it wasn’t long ‘fore he turned into a sign

a sign that blared against the tide

a sign that always took a side

a sign that held us to the tried

n it wasn’t long ‘fore it turned into a ride

all alone at the bottom of the mine

far from home at the bottom of his mind,

down we slide, like vomit down a vine,

diving for the slime that we malign

reach my heart thru yr eye

find yr eye in my spine

build my spine from the back of the line

n i’ll be yrs wen u die

ya, u kill it in yr shows

ya, u shoot around the cones

ya, u never feel exposed

so it’s only right that u turned into a code

all the rage in the middle of the phone

half yr age in the middle of yr clone,

round u go, like a badger in a bowl,

digging for the bridge so u can troll

yr so fresh out the can

sorta trans on instagram

such a fierce, tortured sexpian

lying true to yr simon

watch me blow away the field

watch me  scroll beyond the deal

watch me role into the reel

yo, it won’t be long ‘fore i learn into a wheel

Smallpox Season

All thru the septic splendor

New burgeons death reborn,

Sweet spawn of nature’s terror,

Weaving life fresh forlorn.

It’s springtime for the virus,

Green grows the fetid flesh,

Runs warm the rill infectious

Down mounds of misbegets.

You know we gotta find a way

To make it thru yesterday,

To compose our disarray

And grow thru our woe.

I hear her cystic singing,

I smell her scabs in bloom,

I see her vectors winging

Thru the glowing scarlet gloom.

In ripe organic vengeance

Her pristine murder glee

Spreads fertile seeds of pest’lence,

Like a rabid chimpanzee.

You know we got a cameo

In the future scenario,

In the no-show video

Where you preview you.

As crooling infants perish,

Their lives half full of empty,

Each microbe rewrites genesis

To read “There first was Me.”

And in the shrugging silence

Round the pile purulent,

The victims of our negligence

Some new disease ferment.

You know we gotta take a stand,

Raise a hand against a hand,

So to finally understand

Why we can’t be free.


no one notices yr entrance

no one takes u for a presence

no one listens wen yr talking

no one likes it wen yr laffing

no one wants u in thr commune

no one asks to see yr bedroom

all u want

is to be someone else

someone not

so unfukt n featureless

yr no fun

put yr paints away

yr so dumb

have an endless day

u did wut u did, but no one came

yr not in the running, n yr to blame

u gave it yr best, n it was lame

go take a walk to no acclaim

the house is gone

the stage is struck

will u ever get up?

go on home

to yr lonely rut

n cry into

yr empty cut

put it away

put it away

all that u say

just put it away

wut can u do

wen yr last in the lifeline?

it’s the chance of a lifetime

to find a reason to live

wen ther’s no reason for u.

look at her luv

wrecking resorts down the shoreline

look at her luv

she rips a reason to live

from out the reason for u

try lookin at wer yr lookin

straining neks r made for crookin

ther is purpose for the taking

in the lite that brings yr waking

it is saying sumthing to u

so bewildering to so few: i’m home.

so yr tough

n have a lot to say.

but wut r u of?

who brought you today?

she is luv

she is a wonder drug

take her home

there’s a chest in the subnude

wer ya never go

n it beats for the plenitude

that u wanna noe

lay yr hed on its instead

n listen real low

n u’ll hear so clear

y ther ain’t no alone

giv yr pants to the singer man

n his resonance correlative

make u spring an am

so restorative

cuz the wind can’t break

wut u build wen it’s windy

n u’ll dig wut yr holed in

cuz yr rollin with the everybody.

wut u want

with yr exhaust in front

lookin thru sum didact

like an eye thru a contact

smudged with the shit

yr omits emit

u don’t need wut u got

if it just gets u caught

so lemme offer u

a boff with a breakthru

put u in the mind

to be crucial to a better clime

if u wanna celebrate

wut u can’t keep straight

give thx to the wind

for wut yr spins liberate

u r the way

so get outta the way

i am the way

so get in my way

wut will u do

now yr first in the lifeline?

it’s the chance of a lifetime

to show that the reason to live

is the reason for u.

feel yr entrance

scape yr presence

luv yr laffing

free yr sharing

talk to listen

sleep with transition

O To Be Beautiful

How tortured are the beautiful

By all they cannot be,

For tho we eat them with our eyes

They starve on what we see,

They thrill not in their livening glance,

Their glory brings them grief,

And tho they find their splendor dull,

O how I long to be beautiful.

In spring they saunter thru the park

Their pollen flesh full flush,

And thru their pearly glamour gates

All sentience strives to rush,

Yet in their sacred city self

The law of doubt ensures

Their every moment miserable.

O how I long to be beautiful!

They congregate in giggling groups

And greet with kissing cheeks.

They stroke each other’s wonder forms,

Share mutual bliss extreme.

And tho they never sleep alone

In lonely, lurid dreams

They moan distress incurable.

O how I long to be beautiful!

When two exquisite beauty things

Sit splashing in the club,

You take their sparkling, juicy joy

For most amazing love,

But beauty is to be enjoyed

By those who have it not,

And though their love’s impossible,

O how I long to be beautiful!

Performing what the world yearns

They stand before the mirror,

And you might think they there perceive

The bounty you revere

But back at them the ugly glass

Shines empty horrid doom,

Their being steeped in ridicule.

O how I long to be beautiful.

Fuck My Friends

marry me, inter-operational assistance resistance

my poetry is death’s plan b

for yr woe zone of woman work,

cuz, like, it ain’t coping season already?

yr obsolete as a means of gathering yr insides

i’m an unmanageable cruet

filled with intangible suet,

n humans r dust donuts, so

let’s drink sum pornaldehyde

n i’ll be all i can be

were i as dire and renovated as thee .

art, aka unrehearst kink stew,

likes to pretend he’s opposed to

vigilance agenst cheating,

but really he just hired it out,

so wen will u flush the birds

from yr backwards binoculars

n get too swept up to get kikt around?

marry me, unpredictable precondition

with the spark of genius in her hair.

the world’s past me by on its way to me.

i only exist in deleted scenes.

the invisible hypnotist claims another title.

marry me, nonsense as popsicle.

marry me, garbage disposal national forest.

i’m a dreamy ever-fresh

disaster in the leather flesh,

crooked bushmaster of my

ineffectual scheme, eyeing u,

an indelible perfection in my blip,

for the affection of the whomever dart,

trying by lying to make dope

of the hope that this cremation womb,

this mensural cycle, this dim

cross-observation tomb, this

“hot turkey on the lam” is

the start of an impossible relationship.

stop lookin at me

like yr cookin me,

like i’m hookin for free,

quit bookin my trik reflex

for kickin in yr misfit sex shop

n blow the jungle back into my balls

til snorkel head breathes waterfalls

n tweets to the sweets, “how can u

be evrywer cept in my care spotter?”

let my votive storm peal open

yr veal cave,

press my id scan imprint

gentle to yr


stamp this infinite

detour chromosome jam

down the homebound road

to mutual montage mayonnaise,

turn the sponge pistol

on yr dad mess



marry me, upside down sound.

yr a trifle markt for all pockets,

u pay bigtime to get yr kok stuk in peace out sockets,

a lost man is good to find, no?

marry me, baby ground piano.

marry me, u mock tease of self-reflection.

yr my hed on yr spirit fish,

yr artifice rims my orifice,

wanna put u in lok down n set u free,

wana play space cadet in yr trouble newt,

wana chug yr rubbled piggy chi,

wana tuch myself tuching u,

wana strop my flank lips on yr dug pranks.

ok, so i’ve ben a bad swingset.

unbrad me from the moment

i wuz ment

n maybe i’ll play god to the details

u don’t even have.

i both cannot and can only

revere the riveting morons

that bellow in the oviducts

of yr slobbering carafe.

u purr o u, i purr u too,

we’re the per se i want entre nos nous.

thx for the imaginary cake in my face

thx for the durational performance shoulders

thx for the wanting member laden with gerber trace

thx for the ticklish feminist boulders

thx for the oleander nails on interactive labies

thx for the squirting fanatic daily

thx for the incompetent cats parted by meandering babies

thx for opening yr yurt to my yak

thx for the pre-occupied piper

thx for mounting the trophy kill of my hurt wrack

thx for swimming in my diaper in yr swim diaper

thx for the hater in scrubs

thx for the one day pas to yr silver spork club

my friends, it’s time to bomb the village.

only u shall survive.

n from yr remains

we shall build another

composed entirely

of belly ache pillage,

n in a massive locket rocket

we shall shoot our

revivalist titty recollections

into the impenetrable nite why,

as we sing our hearts out –

whilst basking in cheap recreations

of the shit stains of buddha as pest

marry me, ingested in gest.