Thursday, June 10, 2010


Cursory of the finger ~ Italianate fountain played for dead ~ rippin' its hulk. Buried the buster. Fluster to the cradle to the wind. Fat to its repeating silver lens. Calibrated to every run ~

Curse of the fringe hanging bangs along the foreheard, forewarned by the poleax god hefted in a bard's idolatry ~ and bearing



a v
owel cut OFF

_____________its not the reactive delirium nor the locked up a room even when alone

one it's the other the alcoholic flapper her jewels.

Melancholic ~ the body is an ass ~ .

Get rid of it ~


If she'd whatsoever persist away we'd come to the thing that ~

__________ tether the green ~