corona of failed sperm

tengo una cosita
es un recuerdo
of you vanishing under
water in a wild rapid
en nueve segundos
de aves charlando
you were gone from
everywhere that mattered
en ese sitio que te tomó
por el movimiento, no
se permite la vida

by Hoolie

pueblo revival

spending the night in my tomb-like pueblo revival, accessing content
it's a place where lesbians have been, flesh color in all-surrounding floor.
i stay when i can in the room i've allowed to gather cargo of records;
my bitches question any mother's son.

the stories of survival, horror, sacrifice are one long babble
they narrate the stagnancy of my one-woman battle
a chorus to the fight of my life wearing out an
office recliner and a bucket-seated death chamber...

for somebody who loves freedom as much as me,
have to say it's a bum trip to be a headliner
and you wonder if the people can come back strong
with the illing and just dealing and feeling it so long.


Rev. Chama Tilly, from
Letters to Hillbilly Jehovah

bully crush

life over you is a better view
than forest or either trees
someone to meet my knees
and occupy my sharpest tips
of bone most honorable dis-
respect i feel for you alone

Cloud Dam

Driving toward the coast, the great mountain shoulders that let between them a wind pass to the Outer Chanks, we've been seeing a barrier, white-washed stable door, crimson smudge curtain at sunset, between northern and southern High Gate, where bouts of weather can build up and ponder a spill into our open gravel bowl. One you could see from the Community College of Cement, there's been of late a brooding cloud dam at Crack Gap.

We've got two car shirts, one getting its tail beat to fringe hung sticking out top the driver's side as an ultraviolet ray cushion, for a hooptie these days wants you to sit n' roast in yr own cancer juice as it crab rolls face-up along in its morning-loving glaze. The other's for short-sleeve work days to wear like a smock if yr painting short crescent lines with yr knuckles, sad faces rocking left and right in a studio that could churn the whole globe with a gesture light as a mouse's joint.

Where in the Wrrrl?

Cap'm is AWOL. Last seen slipping into The Crack with Hillbilly Jehovah.

White liar

Lectric pole in a gale, base is wagging the land.
Walking on is half again beyond an eagle badge.
Nothing, writing letters, shiny coins can trip the session.

Empty, kissing awl

Empty, kissing awl, riding on a wagon in,
Your wheels are hewn square, cad, heel.

Beliefs are polluted with the lining of the head,
Every skull a holster boosting love and hate.

Your breath on share from others or in egress
Tastes of useful rubberiness or harbors a tax.

The World's Agents

Now that it's 11:39, a frightened user checks the time.
Even doing nothing, you are a part of the community.

When the filter came down we gave up futility,
traded it in for fear and opportunity.

She'd like to remember, forget, but she can't think
while the world's agents swim toward past and by me.


Phyllis
"Fuck you, men of Canada!"

Gore Vidal Army

Is it dt's? Everyone looks like Gore Vidal.
Turns out it's an army of an era of dreamy
princes, scowling beauties who're naughty.

obambic tom

liar, concubine
shill clown of energy
black oilfield lush

black as the deepest
grounds, the hegemony
of your work boss

black of temperture
a kinder doctoring
of loins, a fudge


Bill Naughdon

Black mute

puppy show
tourettic impulse
black mute
thoracic cavity

dark morning
fire exhibit
kyoot ko-leckshun
weather denial

notion aperture
end's wedding
life as fuel
auto-miraculous

Some kind of foam

Sylvia sees a film of herself on the outside wall of the gym. Her colleagues are stopping in the causeways and pointing out look, there's Sylvia's corpse. Why is it standing and moving? Because it thinks it's still alive. Maybe it sees a projection of its past life on that facade.

Tom comes out of his office with his briefcase and a v-8, does a double take. And I was actually married to that zombie. Look at her now. He glances back at his metal door, pulling it flat. Who was it confused the word crack for dimple. Said there was a dimple in the fence.

She'd had dimples everywhere they'd put her back together, dimples in the skin between the limbs and torso like momo dough. What if everything had dimples, what a cute world it'd be? Tom starts the walk on out to his hooptie, one drowsy thigh prickly as a stuffed owl.

The word jail was blocked out giantly across the side of the county jail to give everyone fair warning and to offer no illusions as to whut yor approaching. If you had a warrant, for example, you may not be released until morning. That's where he'd gone to get her out.

Once the attacks were confirmed they'd arrested her for having been the first to report a flight-gifted reptile in an olive tree outside her office. Her coffee, fortunately, had been in a spill-proof mug. She first spoke with the chair of biology Tom, her partner.

She next spoke with her labor boss, the chain gang lawyer, and a team of crack psychiatrists. When you let me out of here with a stern admonishing, and it comes back for me, will their be a separate co-pay? she asked sarcastically. Those creatures have saw-like teeth was the rejoinder.

And if it comes for my lover, even if he doesn't believe? Is he covered? Do we wait in line at emergency? Suddenly the panel revolved like a bus destination eight ball. They were things in robes, monsters of erect and punished gravity, disappearing unansweringly into some kind of foam.

Mind as State

Memory and a human's fluids thinly planing on a concave surface, two refracting layers over what's not us but of our same dimension, at depths we are protected from by our limits, with emotions and lights.

We grant it's psychedelia, where mind is state: mind love/ mind rule/ mind the invasive host and replacement unto all horizons, a world of fright because of everything that sub-equates, unimagined, but waits.

Survival is my god

Survival is god
and god is survival
as long as i live
allowed in my body.
Yet if i say a prayer
to be in the bible
and still don't survive
then god is my rival.
While lonesome and odd
survival's my god.


Bill "Goldstein" Naughdon

cleaver riposte

The meat has clicked all across these sagey flats, stood warm with a mild itching in the hair filter.

Their tail spread, a full-body sweat, heavier-than-air broadcast, markers of which we get plentiful traces.

This fruit was conscious on the vine, the apple of our mouth, ignoble for the word prey, yet not a weed,

Answered back a sound only comprehensible as evolution's plan to rejoin a perp from beyond the plate.

humming to go with "mind has snot in it"

"Harmonize your own humming with this while you read the piece."

Mike

My Mind Has Snot in It

Vic and I both had shown up at late-night volca outta horniness, not piety. By the time they'd sung Admonishment to Work, we had each of us a hand on the denim of the other's strong knee.

There was no Marriage Plea, just a place to stay for a couple weeks that extended to a bud vase or gilded vintage gravy boat crashed inside the door sometimes when it went flat on me. 

I'm a dog if he couldn't have the whole loft disappointed and rearranged by the time I'd get home caked in salt from the pools the next day. I'd ask where'd you get the wood, Dave? Oh, Stella... he'd start to say:

"You know I'm in the stick trade, I cd vend a dozen lampshades, but I'd rather get you laid." I guess because of the movie lot furniture, the ink of a knight or rook he'd tried clawing out with his fingers, I stayed.

But my mind has snot in it; I remember trips to a childhood shack where his mother still lived without an upper palette, a tree that stretched across the whole garden hanging hollow doll heads, and his tooled skin wallet. 

Going back is ever a sad fable. The first time featured stainless cuffs and a hatchet, tho I found the lucky safe words, "yr bordering scary." The last starred my own dining table, but the same old dude's ass walking away.


By Mike
"I know yr out there."

The Unfired

When a judgment finally took my side,
and I was ordered back to work,
I walked into a wall fresh painted
where my door had been and almost fainted.
I overheard a colleague's words,
"Oh look, it thinks it's still alive."


by Donna

mentholyptus forest

Mother, if I went back, I think I wd be dead, and not in a good way. It's some dirtiness I picked up in the gritty city. It affects you because you've been under the protection of my lizard body. I want peace, I need peace. Peace. I'm a desperate personage. You may think because of our ministry we're safe from thugs. Even as top bitch, I am vulnerable because of you. We can take care of PharmSupply outta the offring plate, but who knows what a hard up flake with a pistol whip can do. Yes, I am serious. The preservation society, it's whut's off their radar I'm concerned about now. Even with Illyn in the street feeding intelligence it's a random bet we gonna see days to spend what we get. I have to go through with the change so's we can live in a cave all of us big enough to hold volca for three days. I have to become the K you got mixed up and had to born me with.

Chama's side of the conversation
Swank anonymous alpine hotel

Pot of Embers

That you went's left the ground a trembling. Or is it the pressure of everything not you that's building.
The narrowness of this alleyway has come to a V-tip. Do bricks and mortar want me trapt or gone?
In any case, I sit stunned, and not by beauty or sex. Can inability to fend off germs be their beacon?

Through the blossoming years my entire flower showed freely, outlines of priapus in midnight lycra blends.
Walking around thus, in any venue, not a witness complained. My innocence and backing by fashion won.
What we have that's shaking goes down in a manly twilight of language, a mutual contemptuous attraction.

Starting in the morning, a blazing hell will pass over all over again. The tumbling voracious mess, engraver.
What provides life is to look at is to going blind as to slow down is to put out lights. With a pot of embers,
We stay up catching up on everything that wasn't acted out wordlessly during the worrying daytime hours.