Sunday, May 24, 2009

So (w) Mona



So Mona, indeed. Sow Mona her ancient reaped field. Fulled up with plenty. Of buxomous thing. Or mouth clapping sideway her Jilly come hammer rared to its fortune blocker.



Mona called in the troops.

She put a word in ~ .

Jill joined the troops.

Franny hankered after troupes. of Folly dolling.
What pilloried mist is it?

Is she heaven content to her
little finger

Will its voluntaristic page
shape memory's design?

Illuminated manuscripts hide the

given from the latent
allowing its potent praise miracles.

She 's mighty not gone or forgot
Nor forsake to her

misere en scene
add them

accents hipping her beauty like never
seen previous three a week
her nerves clad tell her
love
love
love

.


In word
and deed ~ .


The markers ringthe tune ~ .










Friday, May 15, 2009

princely schizzed

Little Mona had a Jona in her spidery way, and her hands all over the place, a like god, No she means a little like god, who was supposed to be everywhere before he died, but his corpse is everywhere, a copse on a meadow field, not a cross to die on. Some connective synthesis between harbours of bellies and suave kisses in the huge night of her abyss and double-self and her wombing him in hungry, ululating. And



Big Mona has Jill's spider tongue. Her hands over the space of a goddess her ass means shaman to her dexterous becoming. Her was a goddess before the spring's rut. Her land's all around her face and hinge, shes's ghetto and meadow to her full diet reward. The reconnective sin 's her thesis to the tummy's bay her lip's in tinest delight a hundred sexes to crevassse her and triplicate self copy


Fanny wanting to clothe everything. her lever is a jawbone clogged by vein and booth. In side its wrong headed bonus is the care of legitimate pa ckaging. She's a shipper with her races acourse.

A curse for every snow bound baby!

Franny wanted to know the meaning of Lawrence's letters before he became a ghost on the plains of his body, and her Mouth opened Wide to receive him in her other double down self. And he was her desert. Not a stolen cherry fruit, a flute? a question mark she introspected before passaging her way over prose and the naughty seven thousands seas of her self, and the leagues between them, her body his, and the body not shared, was a starting into the future not knowing. The full-body of capital on the galloping sails was her weave and woof-woof to her electronic steeds, and his bodies became.



Of all the debts she owed this was least. her ornamental museum was her nearest. come again was the oboe her pleasured poem. O between falll and feels come the field


Big Macro paranoiac doubling Odd I hip thee. Thy paranoia is great as star's stretched Pascalian heights. Lonely gub beuniverse. Curse her recoded rubbings round fortune's calender

Now the decoded flows here are not the scientific axiomatics or dendrites of enumerable decomposable lapses. Little schizo I love thee, did he make the chemical love thee, the way I do and does wrapped around your finger and the willing desire to abandon ship, little schizo who doubles thee like me, and in my hounded days of horn I shall spell thy name again, yet again berries and throats around the roar of the song.


Little schizo I kiss thee .

__________________________Not I please I'd rather roam my own fatasmatic pragma. her billowed feces was guitar to her sunburned arse.


over the ebb belly of the whale swallows me the argent nape of your tongue.


Clang Clang Clang! she hollers the long dollar down her materialized feet and masturbating self, his best friend.

Is that how you pay us back? you little brat. Scooting round your burrowed hives ?

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Come to ridding



______________ Stretch the neck limit Jill


Yank that desiring machine. Hold that thing. Rev that truck. Wrist that blink. Come that rail. Switch that feet. Bust that goat. Creep that zoom. Feel that bass. Rum that ship.
Alright, sez Mona is that your Jill to becoming woman as its transept is working overtime? How come you feel like a Baton-Rouge with your sexy buskin booties each paragraph a mouthful of sandwhich and love's busted grip. Ok yer near the perpinquity clip. Not fighting by diction however covered in mantled fat weirdos. Ok the city is french and yer gaz a coeur is a deskdrawer of faucet leaking. What becoming round the deconstructed patois can you continue. I have the voice to radio and the near to blinking blondes at window. O window winmow. This geology of your sorcery is not native to its sheer bent will. The photograph standing still. Heavy to the treetrim the load is buried. The old rails buckles hefting the city's burly pavement by its weight.

She is near this laced hip, her mound of Venus is a fair song to your elevator prompts.Once Merleau Pont was riding an elevator gloved as any tailor. And waiting wainscotting the men in the golden hawk.

Come to ridding Come to my ridding Come to my riding Red Riding Could.
In the wood in the wood. She's any baked matter.
Matter!

what are you speaking matte for you fool!
Dont call your brither fool
with your blarney accent.
yer brogue for two on the hammock of fussed feet.

_____________________ Now is this the doctor of your page?