love organized like a chair/that field punishing striation
to take a particular shining down: the dubs are far too powerful
+
original. natural, local trusts moving pile of licked meat,
gleaming champagne easy as the
sonnets of love extended to pass understanding
crumbling expression freak-outs,
stretching its blistered, rotting gallantry out back,
scratching failed foreign policy aftershocks
on the grim/scared of protons
+(lights out!)

...almost one of them, rolling the r and b,
metal discs laughing,
bringing none of that dance with you
into the gaping will to delusion
+
(caught right there, in the feminist taste bossing a fuck)


"Let's go back to my room, I like it."

reaching for the same paradigm/the field of sexuality
scorched commodities ask the twilight of desire,
nor the Platonic locked in a cave

(something so special, baby/tones back to lick swollen
caught in a contemporary sit-com or something, watching,
pushing distended semen into the coffin's walking randomly
through algorithmics, secret locations that truly own your DNA)

+
twirled, riding the stick knowledge swallows masterful samurai
blues wasting time every rainy Thursday night, chiming open strings
alternate, devoted to attacking Christianity

shifting, soaring over the myriad plateaus more boldly,
scrapping, polishing the gristle off bones/vacant
and shouting-out to the ghoul lost in your eyes

(acting like people don't know/for no other reason
than forgetting/discarding epistemologies is all
tremendous fun)

so giggle, fucker!