Win On Diagonals

February 26, 2008

slutty slutty tears in stuck space

Filed under: Prosperity — dom @ 8:37 pm

Slutty slutty tears in stuck space

 

            By: Domenic Maltempi 2-26-2008

 
 
q       By chapter 24

                                              A young Roman daydream loses its pallor

                                                Her fingers are prehistory

                                                   Space is important

                                                  Mother always says things are getting cold

                                                Now I believe her

                                                  Bellowing not quavering

                                                            English not English

                                                            Curving sound waves piquant with love

                                                   Voice from 2 blocks away

                                   

First my name

                                    Then my brothers

                                                Friends laughed

                                                Everywhere was second base

                                            Except the homerun wires of stuck space

                                       

 
q       Here is important for no reason at all

                                                             I to

was one

gaining blood back in my daydreamed cheeks

                    chewed down plumbing mind I cry slutty tears

                                    real slutty tears for you’re terrifying ladder

                                    

q       The same day stuck

 
                        That old chestnut peeled by disinterested teeth

               How about a day cycle of moving from western Massachusetts?

                        How about it?

                        Sun pretends to come up

                                 Didn’t get out hankie in time

                              

                               Tie up the bags on rotting roof

                                       It’s spring enough and April is frazzled mid sentence

                                     Wave to the baker or the only one up

                                                Wry or sexy faces

last ones to make

                                                     At the local speed trap society

In there hidden

 Hidden

 place

 
q       This tripe cobbled into paragraphs

How a daydream forfeits

even when all the seats are still full

                                                Sponsor sermons

                        Recumbent radicals in dragging anchor sweet breathe

  Buy is trust us hi us

captive rapt and

        Flatly loud

tight lips brandishing your turned in guns

                      

         This tome that shook that young daydream

                                                Scruff of neck, hairs of sex organ

                                                       Great fear not of death

                                                           No way

                                                 Just those goddamn incisions

                                                      Insidious in consistency

                                                      Affect

                                           Carving stations called plans of actions

                                                Bored to bludgeoned chefs

 in training

                                                       Laboring for the glory of the great rapier swallow(ers)

                                                                                Dapper stern Cato stoned

wisdom tails

                                                      Economies of scales

                                                                        Lifestyle decisions

                                                                  Every other chapter

                                                                                    This whole disguised

Hagiography of the accrued acumen of man

                                                                             Horse steam!

                                                          But no love lost for man for all that steam

                                                                                                The same

 
                                                                        This limber tome jacketed nightly

                                                Redolent of some important lost time inextricably laced

                                                            With our worried apex bobbling glory

                                                            Redounding with sight caking ooze for the next

                                                                        Children of god and all

of his mirrored ashtrays and spina bifida bashes

defects of all defects

 pointing at a glorious fistula

 
 

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