| |
Cows are land clouds
the sky moons over
baby pictures
my goatee is another me
I rarely talk about and only
grow inside my face for one
dental hygienist in town
It looks as though I'll run
for office to get what I want
the mail delivered at night
for the good of my party
very slow this afternoon
beatings and torturings
People were only killed
between songs
a gutted ruin, this kind of work.
Must be a herd, back of my skull
face down, bent at the knee. I love
conducting this field of shells.
The mark is indelible
a huge bullet
yellow and blue, so tall
The shit of small birds
stop serving blindly the wall
of bitterness: I refuse
to elaborate
|
|
painting
the
house
gerard.
crinnin
|