what if these gatherings were incidental rather than formulated mark ups of colossal lynchings?

this form of by-pass surgery

exerting throughout its mazes

a release of modern guts

liquid form

a date has at long last been set for mass starvation,

an event decimated from all the Christmas trees left from past disembodied prayers,

tacked neath purple wine storm windows

notes to inform we young pioneers

which may be for the well of it

these Thursday night audiences have been fixed,

rescheduled moments

last calendar’s rainouts

(this thought can only be interpreted as coincidental),

as tomorrow comes another flood

approaching another resumed valley

dangerous if you’ve blown up your life preserver too quickly,

a white corpuscle bursting through the night

vein intense reticence

an inescapable mixture

yonder would be a nail to head on-

a script fermenting under a florescent headband,

some purchase not reported on time,

thus the patient jailer will at last have his day of reckoning

knotholes too close for escape,

“Work, work, work,

at the rate we’re going one of us should consider a vacation”

are there any open dates left?

but a smile’s a smile

however pressed warmly,

becomes maximum electric color storm

whoever heard of snowfall at this rate?

cameras trained to expose candid hype,

and on the other side,

a man lives alone

with guarded German Sheppards

growling inside fences-

humanity is now outnumbered

so tie score.

the home team grows invisible.

we have abandoned our religions,

empty milkbottles for pickup

at this rate the future is another empty exhibition game,

fossilized

uncut

stone

9/72

St. Louis