29 January, 2009

to try

"living down"
.spoken. (italicized)
"not living"
toothache of a thought
"sorry" for the lousyness
simply drifting/often hanging
often hanging. fingers claw the quagmire.
An Instance. (or practice)
Seven sins. One for every stranded character. There's Greed the howells, maryanne jealous of ginger's beauty. Lust, no there's no lust, that's not one. one, two, three. Pride Envy Greed the howells. Right. The professor his Pride. four. Anger or Wrath the skipper the big bluebelly the shirt not the skin. He had these brief moments of gentleness but always far too impatient, that one. five. Gilligan is what? Gluttony? Or is that skipper? That tank. Either way what's the seventh sin. Gluttony, Wrath, Envy, Lust?, Pride, Greed. Who slothed, howells? gilligan? I've only heard of sunday school. The howells were vain. Is lust a sin? They all lusted over ginger. She was also jealous of maryanne she was such a perfect little doll. Is lust a sin? I'm out of characters.
Morning watching.
3rd floor vision.
eating Cheerios.
barely cheerful
And I thank you J.J.
master of think and
the replication of

tight tight tight

I cried for the ones who made me
Their dollars were shoved up the wall
Harassed, and quarters jingle-clanged
down and crashed the tile
"Stretched too thin"...right. These pavers and stones look awful
ly beautiful and the steps of the American
daydream have played cracks again
vinyl siding shines a new
botox the wrinkled lips
smiles when the belly turns
I'm buying wax and spinning
distracting my ears from the news
I buy records vintage crap
a movement, a rejection of
this idon't give a shit
headphoned headtalking
cyborgism telepathy aided, real
faces scare this generation

kings the pace

speed to get
speed to meet
speed for the sake of speed
rush in and drown in the stag nant
speed to win
speed to anchor knees with
pockets full o f dirty dimes
earned by the soul sold off

and if my body's the host
i cherish this tomb

kings the scenes

flood puddles
new york like london
or all i've heard
grey and clouds
peasants and
masters.
Neither.
No one sweeps.
building faces unshaven
man hat tan a fucking uncle
space castles
with a moat!

kings and against the street fools

I know
about the caps,
buttoned vests buckled boots
a flimsy screen
suds float, a contained diameter

There i am
amigos left, loud like bombs

if i stretch my limbs
the tips touch the rim
picture vitruvian

:piss:
i say to the wall...
remember this, something
remember this effort