They can Go Back to Hurt you

An agent of anything steps into your life and shows time for what it is: a lie.
Let's take the bullet holes along the side of Ken's sedan.

Pick any vertical line to indicate "now" (Her). Let's say the long crease of the driver's door.

Punctures to the right and left are future and past, for a lack of better tautology.
Inside each dark opening, poorly-captured moments flicker.

On the left, they are ripples of attention. Starlene's prism black lights the steps in hot retrospect:

• Oh what a pommeling he gave that love. He was brown nosing fate.
• Showers ruined the yard sale. Now we know why he sought that.

On the right, they are ripples of motion. Starlene's gravity stones past the splash, dropping wet:

• Must have been some undercurrent make him call his mom the next day: eddy pull?
• In less than a year they've got him surrounded at the Club Martinique-- surprised?

Sin-Gaberra Chank

This is the chank at Sin-Gaberra.

Monument and Maiden

From the cut of his pants, Ken's buttocks and thighs must have had to swell, yes freakishly, in order to align themselves with a naturally swinging bat. His skull was a granite helmet carved to cover optimistic projectures for the tightest fill of any bronze head.

She took him easily, mercilessly, like a retarded kitty. His spine implants and hours squatting proved no match for sequins and bottomless limitations. Even so, her painted zygote fingers at one point tried to claw at heaven for more success juice. Her wizened silhouette, thrown unflatteringly there against a disintegrating wall of memorabilia, besotted life for him, starting then, both back and forth by calendar.

Or had they form changed by trading lyric go-go cages at the height of their passion as a way to be truly all over and up inside one and with the other?

Swamp Baller

Hoolie finds work at a reform school in a swamp for jaded chillun. It is too late to go backward, for any of them. They can grow tho.

First, two bombshells of 14-- opposite race, but like twins-- receive him in the palatial Atrium of Thinkers. They show him the way to his cot, freshly splayed, between two metal filing cabinets hanging obscenely with padlocks and combination cylinders. It was the medications.

Dinner that night includes an equestrian-themed ice sculpture and cruise-like buffet for 80. If you had recently fired yourself for wanton / self-harming behaviors or gone truant from one cinderblock apartmentchank nightmare to the next, you could still join in song, partake of the table, and be limited to no special fruit. Of the few punishments allowed, money and higher society were two.

Tho one night a red-headed, wide-pupiled chick or twink, ruddy with astyptic bloom, play hooky big time in the apt-4d sugar shack of latest re-hiree and retired pro-baller remembered for having pulled in to the compound with bullet holes all alongside his Charger. Ken, until now, has never been identified as either black man or monster, except while toying with himself, among characters to whose points of view we've not been privy, and by his own mother.

Mountains Signal Disturbance

This is how much I am willing to channel everyone's jagged waves: they will chew me as on a spit until I can regurgitate love for each one of you, my enemies.

Alternately, I stand and piss a long and dirty fable, as I am unable to abandon all the crammed-in tackle I've been pulled into an angle with: there are those who need me.

Unhooked, some fish with ripped lips just truck upside down. Ery tam a gal stand up an shake her fleas, pups come crying with concussions and they bobbing requirements.

Giant Cranking Engines

Wind makes the hills shimmer with light be-
cause 150-ft turbines crank their shells and
spill friction into every living room and den.

Their howl is an avian or canine call, a harm-
ony of inter-special gaiety. The low one drones
to all: "Hear my prolific growl. Take my free

issue." Others ring shrilly, morbidly inviting.
Jangling crickets tamber nature's consent, ig-
norant. All-night criminal traffic now wafting

in from the 10. Bitches stretch in the sand, ne-
ver yet having met up with a scorpion. Lit ho-
opties creep by to the petrol stand, buffeted.

World of Mornings

Sure, there was hope, but you woke up
tired.
Fire bear come flying over horizon.
Insects, reptiles click, split.
Now tell me is or is not,
considering nutrition, a dried apricot
as good as its flesh-fulfilled cousin?
Because everything they wrote
can now only be found in the bone
chalk of those scratched letters,
crystal, canvasses, silver, china.

Awe of Priapus

Chama looked over at Ilyn. Do you see whut I see. They had stumbled upon a shivchapel in the face of the chank.

Their vision started to benefit from the clarity of Strong Hormonal Bathing. The first moment of beholding a phallus will always make the humidity rise to what's necessary for mucous.

Chama imagined herself as the Veined God, and how it turns out to be Her Chrysalis.

Ilyn felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of blood that would be required to attain that level of determinacy.

They stood and stroked the rippling folds, stretching, but not quite able to reach its crown. "We will see Luck or Scorn; it's the paradox of this deity," The Chama intuited.

Ilyn wept.

Wiccan Dipsplit

apparently the blind find me goodlookin;
the unsighted obviously think aighm hot.

just when so many naked people are against me,
aigh need people naked against me, and thayr not.

with a witch's fingers on my scalp,
i can travel to new ages as a scab;

before demagnetizing the last few nodes,
i enjoy a robot's timed sense of moving on.

Hoolie, from Birth of the Mthyuh Preservation Society: When K's Gave up Living and Volunteered for Manned Flight.

Sick Hippy Home Invasion

They broke in, chapped and acting wild from the wind. They had not yet felt shame for what they did, but there was something coming in the gale.

Its tortured evergreens at 40-60, the cabin hurtled steady as a hard careening bubble. Insulated by and from force, The 2 would sleep like refugees.

Crickets were screaming in the garage to keep up with the momentum of the howling. Not much living could hold on outside. Yet there were security lights.

This was an abandoned cove, Turgid with Blowing. Every once and a while someone found a winter renter. It was a hell with its back strapped to a jetliner.
Roaring louder than violent surf, Judgement Hammers might have followed Mistress and Servant to the basics of human living. Now their eyes were Red Sand Traps.

Voodoo is The Law

It's very nice to hear your voice again,
and I'm grateful to you for all your help.

I wonder if our love is covered by
corporment or mercenary int'rests.

I save all my masculine energy
for transfer to hot skull shrinks like yourself.

As in one who flirts only with barkeeps,
wanting spent has a safety handicap.

Ref'rence to lucre can cheapen your trade;
I feel so sad to see it end this way.

HIV Bros

They had their shivknives drawn steak sides up, and Jer felt his upper gingiva pulling back and drying out. He was hissing like a possum in a corner. Then he looked up at Ken and had to chortle. They were 2 skeletons dipped in Flesh-Color Paint. It was a kick when they argued cuz they knew they were already ded. "You are funny to me just as you are tragic to others," explain Jer. "Phukyu bitchcunt I pis on you; I cut you," was Ken's retort. Then they both busted up laughing and allowed themselvz a few moments of cardiac arrest. Gasping for breath, Jer say to Ken: "You know I hate everyone else even more than us." "That's coo; me too," sputter Ken, coughing up blood.

Sucking Beacon

Donut cloud, crown of thorns, and your lateral, unsurvivable blast: we must all learn, but be far away from. The charm of your beacon is a ring of pulling wanting. Our own livers, our sensing organs, viscerally seek to sate your warning glory.

Disappointing former anomalies, pivotal galactic trendsetters, turn out to be really no more than wood chippers. Matter doesn't "disappear" inside them. Their density is not "infinite." Law of physics: something always has to give. Look what's blowing out their axes.

We astronomers, in bed with our telescoping mirror cones and eye needles; we livers in other realms, of freedom, of caprice and lifestyle mistakes, of blight off season. They put us in prison in spite of our feathered hats. We recant our previous believin'.

Only the bars prevent our final charge on gravity. Suck me, wide one. Beauty is your annihilation of all other meaning. To true is to leave terminating dusts on a vinyl stack of atmospheres, to be creatures who will eat through song for an invite to a place where space bends.

From: "Ode to Black Hole 7"
Reptily, Graduation Day Speech
Hunger Gardens, Low Chanks

Lady McBirth

Hot neighbors' sons with shorn hair empty onto
the street and crawl up the block at night, spray paint
the garage. Reptily mom call police. Neigh-
bors complain, "Therz alwayz trubble over thayr."

She knew it was not at the law that they jeered,
but rather marked her as sodomy doer.
And their votes were against sodomy, not her.

She thought of the way shit stink stays in your skin
and wondered whether that was yet another
shame for mothers.

Hystadelic Rejoinder

Sylvia: I don't want to put away dishes with you while you're in your underwear.

Tom (turning toward her in grey boxer-briefs with a sauce pan in one hand and a rat's tail shivknife sharpener in the other): I want to open up some opportunities for you. To talk about what you saw. I know I was all wrapped up in my time experiment, and nothing registered. Not time. Not even horror.

Sylvia: Time lies, you know. It's a liar. Put on some baggy pants and we'll talk.

While waiting, Sylvia stands absentmindedly pressing what seems like her taint against the back of a faux-Rococo dining room chair. It boasts a darkly varnished hardwood patina, and it's downright cocky about its Shorn Crushed Red borganna brusquely shielding all the parts on which one might normally leave prints. Bare-flesh contact with wood, tile, lead causes Sylvia to auto-hypnotize and occasionally seizure. Even through knits, that kind of pressure triggers a not unpleasant hystadelic rejoinder.

Since that first week when Tom began trying to explain his "announcement" about his "Pax on Us" goddess coming to save the middle chanks, it had been over. Now crime was their bond. Tom's agreement with Collie was so strong, the power of his surrender so profound, that they could only dance with the beckoning animal that kept them stepping on. Tom singlemindedly distribute shivplate, stone compasses, Hopinaskipina for his corporment sponsors until his ears bled for lack of Filter of Loathing. Everything was dephallocentri-size now.

Tom: I'm back.

Sylvia (opening her eyes): Oh.

Tom: Are you calm? Why don't you sit on that for a moment.

Sylvia (lowering slowly, bracing herself on the borgana armpads): It was a bird.... It was obscene. You never believed me; no one did, and I lost my job. Now our whole county can't leave, and our essential compositions have shifted dramatically from gaseous to chemical.

[FLASHBACK: Going over the conversation in his mind, Tom recalls a strobe light of important snippets, a bucket of chicken, Patron shots. He squints, and spits. All he can see is her lips talking. What he hears makes him want to make her stop.]

"...one wing, but like a cape. You could say pleathery. White veins...

"...I thought I saw it again last week, but high up. It looked like a letter K. Going backwards. Flying with its legs spread eagle.

"Are you listening, Tom?"

Free of Consequence

Back inee olden days Reptily mom and dad walk her through a foreign town on a phat wooden cart. Instead of arms, they had signs they'd written on with lipstick. The empty tubes rattled on the floor, just as Coral Blush Chum sloshes at the bottom of a War Canoe.

WEER JUSS PASSIN ON THRU
PLEEZE LEAVE US IN PEACE
CUZ THATS WUTWE WISH 4U

You might expect the next paragraph to be Choked with Carnage, but no. Enemy Villagers were just confused or busy and couldn't have cared less even though they would have liked to kill them haddit been Free of Consequence.

Pharmsupply's Prolabique LipLine Master-Lisp "Lipstickventory" List, 2009

900 Number
A Man Has to Act
Advisement to Do Nothing
Any Scotch
Archetypal Angry Parent
Audry
Bang C'Mon
Beau Talks
Bedtime Sandwich
Berry Plop
Black
Blood Hope
Bloody Poop of Creation
Book
Born Again
Bring Heavy
Brown Dirt
Burnt Issue
By L'Wisp
Chancre' Adieu
Chaos of the Senses
Chump's Paradise
Chunks of Orange
Circles All Day
Clove Aureola
Cohosh Spice
Coral Morningshadow
Crammed with Grace
Crematoma
Crisis of Being
Crystal Rimprint
Curly-Toe Slippers
Dad's Toilet Kit Gaping
Despite Nature
Devil's Clit
Dew on Ice
Dirty Pink
Dirty White Vinyl Bible
Douche Ditch
Drop Trow
Employees and Stockholders
Escape for Dependents
Every Trade Imaginable
Fallowed Lands
Feed On
Fifty-Dolla
Filter Stain
Final Eater
Food Covetor
Fool's Blessing
Front Seat
Gaping Lipstick Stain
Gentle Excretions
Getting Late
Goddess of Propriety
Grab Bars on a Tub
Grandiose Ideation
Handy Gentleman
Happy Orphan
Hard Trampoline Highway
Heavily into Rut
His Hat
Holiday Mincemeat
Hooptie to Tomorrow
Hummingbird Catcher
Hush for Cover
Ice Dispenser
Ideal Opposite Gender
Imitation of Christ
Janice
K-Dava Diva
Ladies' Barrel Competition
Last Say
Lifestyle Mistake
Lismore Vessel
Locked and Parked
Love and Care and Brutality
Lush Rose
Lust Gorged
Makes Time Stop
Marbled Rent
Me Tomorrow
Metallic Feathers
Middle of a Pizza
Mildly Undermined by Shit
Minor Discretion
Monkey on a Swag
Moral Vogue
Motel 6
Mucky Muck
Muff of Fur
My Dead Posse
My Yesterday
Native-American Squaw
Neighbors' Skins
Never Blows
Nico-Rush
October Foliage
Off Season
Offer of Tobacco
One Crossed Over
Optional Items Now Included
Paella
Pair of Masters
Pale German
Pas du Cake
Patina Teacup
Payment of Blood
Pearl Membrane
Peek, a Blue Pink
Peeled Grape
Peeping Gingerly
Perfek Pink-Brown
Period that was Misunderstood
Pig 'n Tongue U
Pig on a Lipstick (premium dispenser)
Pink Morning Sky, but Vertical
Pink Skirt
Pink Squishy
Pink Worm
Pink, and Fleshy
Pins and Velvet
Planned Activities
Plaster Grapes
Plinth of Juno
Puppies Smudging Up my Rug
Queen in the Filling Station
Rainbow Scale
Raspberry Gale
Real as Phlegm
Red Afro
Red Light Highway
Reddish Egret
Refridgerator Door
Rim In
Ripened Manhood
Robed Men
Ruff N' Buttry
Sage Rub
Sandstone Pimpernel
Scene of a Dump
Second Home
Secrets Kept
Sexual Lipper
Shadow of Medicine over Nothing
She Needed
Shirt Caller
Slimming Tips
So Hot
Softened and Empowered
Sopped in Bailey's
Spraybourne
Sterling Sour
Straw Dipper
Stud Aplique
Sutured Poison
Sweet Pie Raisin
Tacky Surfaces
Tan Taint
Tasteless and Pink
Tattooed Urologist
Teary-Eyed Drinks
The Crack
The Slip
Time Crack
Topless Coal Walker
Two Decades of Feminism: Dual Tank Treads
Vaginal Borderline
Virgin
Want to Steer
Want-to Cream
Way to Worship
Wendy
Wet Nip
white lipstick
White Veins
Whopping Disinformation
Wicca Twilight
Wiccan Dipsplit
Wisdom Mist
Wrenchbreaker
Zoned No Sex Offender
Zygote Birther

Every Trade Imaginable

The Second Home was also away from crowds but for the Pair of Masters, the only neighbors, who could see you still Locked and Parked, not gone, on their Way to Worship and from. They may step past in Black, point an umbrella or their Book, and voice concerns. The male one had the Last Say, but She Needed to talk. He seemed both Softened and Empowered by her Gentle Excretions.

The third home posed too easy an Escape for Dependents. They don't think right. In spite of hangdeliers and dripping oil statue lamps, they take you for granted as keeper and wander. The Handy Gentleman showing it off was a little hostile, yet So Hot. You could have reached into His Hat for feelings of Every Trade Imaginable.

Hooptie to Tomorrow

I combed the chanks, all of them, to get housing for me and the bitches. It was the end of the longest Off Season ever, and a lot of what was closed down was going to stay that way. I guess I saw about _ spaces and met about the same number of men.

Phil Barleycorn drove me out to a hive where your fwd view and rear shield look the same. Phil was white and pink with the earnest humor of a man who'd been telling challenging jokes to chillun for all time. Never laid a meal in his own way. He also seemed to be sniffing for lint in my mind as he bragged about sending three zygotes to Pig 'n Tongue U. The rental structure had provided final launching pad for an original pioneer famly whose ultimate jump was remote lordship of these spoils.

"You may have seen it, the death march lot for K's right there at the end of the field, but the wind Never Blows this way," counseled Phil, farting. "They started this hole way back when the chanks were still flush and sweating. Then their heartland became a museum for ugly, militaristic protocols. Everyone who came here wanted badly to be a cog. So they called it God. It's where I'm still living."

Next stop, last rest stop before High Chanks and extremer pointz. RIP!
"Hoolie Roll: Hooptie to Tomorrow"

Weirdo Healer Prees

In a rat hole for aliens, you see a zeal for life:

lust for children and in cooking.
Tenants, slaves pushed their grime

against caves of linoleum and painted wood
and pipe and pane and wrought iron caging;

they come up to him in church, tap at the rai
-ments, a downtown suit-parlor knock off,

chequered from a couple decades down;
sandy hairs moderate his rostrum.

A sinner with thick glasses, loose pantz,
sprinkle on yor daughter, clean her path,

watch yor blighted son who no one look at.
Weirdo healer prees, closer than a fren.