Wednesday, December 12, 2007

come sir

Come Sir Phiipszzzzs Sirefull lips is this the Cuff Linkin' who so crudely loves one afar,

an Eve in her bask balcony forlorn stage? Is this the one who merited only heaven, but gaining hell in its stead? a clarity from youth such as not an other had?
Is this the one whose thighs burned with fire to death, as matter took its toll?
what shamble of shakes was it? that mistook yer friend for a loping beginner and weak-kneed Verlaine?
Was it all you meant? when you said
O my telephone bill

is so so out of place?
Shall we send you a bath mat for your materials of
was war your only embering aim?


IN the other email you sent him, you declared your undying love,
well undying love
is a little bit boring. (dont you think! hahaha undying love, not what sort of neurotic cap is dat!
you know you clasp my testicles nutly!) [hahahahhaha]
how about some flesh , blood and a good vacation to the

Banannas you reply. A loser. A floozy with no neck,
a shrieking down double dealer a control freak with eyes in the back of her neck? a double Picasso rear ass view.
Something that shines in the dark, a thing.
with a premonitory name
a quilt where german babies grovel.
a word smith with nocturnal revels
to bear.
something like this.
on the page.


1203 noon.ish.

you call swearing cursing cussing
my body you promise is a curve of cussing things
that makes yer gussy self better
not forlorn like the cheap
tawdry bacon that holds you together.
a friend in palestine says paleolithic
is lithim based
like manic depressive hearkenings to the
whole becomings of truth and her
Janine Macintosh desiring-machines
calibrates her sense of Sister Teresa Buttocks
buttery buttocks
lending 'down' the street
a perpendicular nose
to daft men to her army
privates in her army
lov'es gaudy body
No body has love
No one loves this.
I am Shelley, the poet I know whereof I speak.
The body without organs and
the trespass without night.

She dares me to reply. But I am your dear
lesbian missing in action.
the double twin of yer splitoscenic
ironic lack of iron
no you are not ironic
illiterate yes, but not others.
cinema of your hands
and eyes was once hair
but now a hearing aid
to bathe your intent
a pathetic fallacy is not a pathetic phallocracy
in themiddle of things
stop yer bedizend pshawpshaw
its beelzebub and its hubbub
when she stippled her game
the tips she analyszed witha political force
only akin to her uncle Genet

some hand under the page was her too
much control
the forward freak of her nature
a split noun
between demonstrative and

see this
see Jane
see the Boy
see her hop to his fence




I signed this heart with yer air.
was the emblematic stasis of disapproval


MissyRimbaud comes back to writer
her body's text



între ciumaţi ::
între ciumaţii lumii
iubesc şi eu ca toţi
şi-mi sporesc
cu un ceas căderile"

She was in Bucharest when news came. he arrived as a river.Over blanket her shelving.