Jacob David

The rust of gasping lice swarm through my fingers. Snares, drums mine. Banging furies, theirs, fervor, theirs, uproars of revolt. Unanimous. Rebellion renown. Destruction? Civil. Billions hopping up and down Monroe Ave. Screen vigilantes sink in their half-drunken patios, the rotten past's moldy tsunamis. Wrinkled versions - hope. Pisses, diapers own. Pupils forward stare. Soldier salute to lazy Friday leggings, ay? 

For things I got on I got on her crotch, she drives her first through iceberg zucchinis. Guzzle, arms crossed, hydrogen peroxide (we). Anything for an anvil pillow of crickets’ sawdustperfume accidents. Megaphones, parking meters... the daughter of cauldrons and subpar bourbon! Loneliness. She, veranda, ass glued. Down her gullet: hangover poutine. Later she'll: condoms, teeth, bristles. Hire the tanks and sound the alarms. Trumpet beaks, sirens, ricochet off stop signs; penetrate silence shy. Tongue, mine, overlaps envelope venomous: "I'll shave your lubricated eyeballs, malady." 

Cord, umbilical, hired: bong beret. Inebriated applause! Swallowing frugal candles, onwards Loneliness spurts: "Exterminate expression! Finger Annihilation's urethra until she comes liberation! I love you."

Stars and stripes, in gasoline, burrito. Oranges, reds, yellow... Overlap lusting long kite tails, fingernails slip-swerve melting; arms in arms locked, doing the jig-jig. Performers, stars, catapulted to the Hollywood noose. (Stardom, baby!) Neurons swing like pendulums bathed in Vaseline. Embers? Sizzling to make the new night younger. Thigh-high seizure scorching. Warmer still craves dew makes milk, the early morning. Ashtray moon's smile, carve it. Difficult. Hear dung sh’rung the bells black boisterous, clouds ears drip moist red pools - twelve times over, one for each month of the minute. Run your tongue along the moon's midriff and hear it purr. Loneliness is a whore whose head must be extinguished. 

Soon we'll jump ship to make bones of laughter against the tyranny of taste. Then we'll make laughing ships out of jumped bones. Statues: megaphones. Passenger. Donation? Deserved. An element. Sicc-ing scythes stops the back moon's hammock skeleton saloons accidents; homeless chainsaws to a pawned mood. Crowds of gulls heave. Sirens? Dredged ears. Plugs? Thrown out the window, affordable be. 

Deep throat, we, candles roman. Intestines laughing, ours, we dangle round. Ferris wheels, neon. The fair? The fair! Finally summer removes its corset. Cigarettes smile tar. Pennies, dozens. Water fountain's guts. Inhale. To said myself: years seven I said it to accidents but seven backs an element accident. Day’s sawdust perfume my past three crickets stop the backs. They're being stabbed with snarling pork chops and sloshed the backs potholes of apple sauce.

Teeth, moon, clothed, since - goodbye waved: the sun. Cleavages and you'll be I said to seizure myself cough I behind wisdom dyes our pubes, of crickets years an element. Khaki-neon skeletons perfume sawdust, sand-papered as silk, sleep on newspaper mattresses.

In efforts for needs of affordable can be her wildest. Coroner, mine. His cigar, prose seizes. Bananas moist, clouds. Forms concrete covered, skies sheet metal smuggled. Jaws wider open wider than wide-open width. In efforts? Needs. 

Affordable housing, hers. Bunched together, pillar heap of maggots: massive waves of unrest. Leapfrog! Weariness! Ones behind the one behind the one behind the many. He whittles his forearm into a Shure microphone: "If I thought I had a brain, I'd throw it out."

Teeth, his, aortas mine: glued and bruised. What's another guzzle of grog... Pools, hers, Loneliness, trampoline tidbits and ears me whine. Hip-stitched nipples. Road of the middle, headlights in deers. Tire, skull. Skull, tire. (Literary laughing ships blown right out: seats closed, tongues.) He isn't looking hot these days, but my past is doing good. Destroyed it before pain. 

Don't ask him if he's hungry years morning laughter bones. Jumped bones with laughing ships bubulcitate: grins, tornados - bungee-jumping spines, spiraling out of guilt's constellations. Our avenue yawns, it's been a long night; skeleton prose aroused. 

Half-decades, bulging, caterpillar single file. From the one-way Monroe Ave., to hwy 401. Magnificent maggot heap. Bone crushers paint bullseyes on ribs, erected statues. Thousand bologna suns - when shakes, hands, worth a good cup of phlegm, and when lice won’t have to snort Viagra to do their jobs.

(Bio) JACOB DAVID BOILS CAULDRONS ALIVE AND BRUSHES HIS GUMS WITH CHAINSAWS. HE IS 1989 YEARS OLD AND HAS 33 CHILDREN.