Thursday, July 08, 2010


They used mafia-like tacos
to penetrate border patrol ranks, but who would
ask a random stranger that question was shot.
This is getting more important.
Everything sucks in Dallas, but this might
be my fav avocado! It’s interesting
to note where I am coming from,
where I am going, or anything else.

That I should build a deck
so hard. So people was pole-dancing
in their own skin, in an insecure part of Cincinnati. Better park
this night in keeping lookout for the flatness of the sky.

Wanna know why our officers of pole-dancing cows
are other than some scatological lining up
of an area’s—BOOM!—punching your ass
in an unprofessional photo
where a dude’s playing injun?

I just feel that agents crossing the border to get
the most bestest hummus are hounded enough
by pantry-hugging bumper humpers
in their Hazmat jumpers

don’t you?

It was sort of bad when I looked at Paris and was like
Yes! Kentucky!! but I live in an area where a young prick
wooed the old hippies into replacing the only fountain in town
with a tattoo mart in whiff-distance
of any Border Patrol agent’s just leaked shart.

Thanks to being passionately satiated at the movies
I may not be in a gang anymore. Expressing myself
could have the road check, the yay! Karma, the
next-door straight edge foreigner, and the pole-dancing
unemployment statistic in tow.
Pack away more KFC WMDs than the former
Miss America will tamp down a dirty joke hahahahahaha.

Juicy! Knitted a need to have a boyfriend once in high school
to clean up shit for 20 cents an hour. I could be a slut
toting binoculars into a Domino’s Pizza, wrangling
an outrageously racist flash video game an I-did-my-part-today
Spring Break away from little material possessions
that house the poor. An association with casual rhythmic
breast-feeding crept it’s way into Canada overnight but still
when asked to put an open hand on the ass of Obama, I
waterboard all that a twinkie stands for. I’m a poet. I get saved
by cool night breezes and filling my stomach with the thought police
alike. In one highly-publicized incident, I used and abused
ebony S+A+V+I+O+R bands, but for a cause that would
foundationally render this devastated country
prone to development!

Geographical comprehension, you ignorant slut!
Alot of these new Border Patrol Jam Bands have the same mantra:



captured the same mountains
but the sheep (SQUIDGE!)
wandered into Barbados.
Here be a mixtape of someone
who put their primitive mouth on a mixtape.
Alot of people think crossing over from SNL
into the movies is a dream.
XTC, cocaine and everything that's bad for me
encourages notifying the slutty zombie
of the need for a rewrite. And so I told Grace, Grace mommy,
Grace daddy, Grace of the Jews, Grace of the plebian
RedBox, I said, what President Obama wants
in his younger days, is the threat of sleep deprivation
to motivate him to deport as many immigrants
as possible. We all know that a broken clock is right
twice a day. So...
Obama to Host SNL (please?)!

I’m just thinking wear the other costume
if that’s the only permanant access
to other people Obama will allow you!
Obama is definitely the predatory
lender of land who gets slowly weaker and weaker
as time goes by.

Barbasol the Pimpered Upper. But it makes a good Foilage Diaper.
The Super Dolphin tweets Obama’s face onto a helipad,
now a dusky woodwalk, now a big canyon.
Like America’s face pasted onto it’s own
big knee of promise. Projected onto
the earnings of an implemented
austerity that is like
bone on bone. Swimming in the cables
in the warm sunlight mosh.


With two paunchy robo-friends
overlooking a failed predecessor.
A huge handlebar mustache was expected to
intervene for awhile, in carefully shrunk
to bungling, odd-sized envelopes, I yelped a pantry
of delicious need
into the microphone. My style had refereed the orgies
of yesteryear, blistering submission to NAFTA
as an opaque missionary position. Smartly crude
energy sourced the interference in camera-cop amazement, thinking
all of us “Maybe we should pick up those cute lil pills.”

I was not the rug-wearing
polemic nuisance everyone seemed used to.
I was Barbara Jean, glowing in a Laotian carcinoma, pedagogical
as paranoid as I was resplendent, a crumb of glam
in a sufficient guard’s eye. In a patterned handle of resonance
and jokey formation, clumsy-ass dobro variations
overlaid on the vocal track. Rhapsodic idiots
with brown nails.

If Elm Street knows skin, we show it
to be irreducible. Forgetting how to spell, picking up every
next option. The speedy camera shots, the paralysis we feel in
the face. It is lovely ludicrous humidity. American paucity
paid for by pattern elopements, vicious sounding of the common
vexing sandals. Collapsing new releases, sound-byte llamas etc.


I mean there’s really no way around it
is there? I mean when you encounter the ink
and get to seem pervy, that is for the Internet
and thou. And twisting and giving “the horse factor”
to a montage of the Champion, these pictures of my home
with dreadful unable tips: and was how the giant nose
down on the street discovered existence.

For to skip detail work
the subwoofers became garlicky, rock shamrock chatter
the automatic plankton Anniversary of your bones. You are
dancing in a windmill of preemptive Voice Recognition, the Capital
of flashing meeting points unaware of Sunshine
in meeting places 18 & 38.

Numbers are scary, right? I know.
Boggy recordings totally occasion the world
and are jarring. I’m here panting into the mic. Clutching it
like a Usinger’s bratwurst with the Star Power
in effect. Looks like high-end humor
turns out in the end to motivate a big wet boner. Big wet
8-bit thrusts in the night! Tell us whose powerful
screwed money needs an adapter!!

Baby we each other slowly whisk the
corn fields of all memory. It is a whisky
proposition to be satisfied, and sponsored by the state
all at one end. Let’s get pagan now!

Related girl-weeks of tours of RFK stadium, those guys
with pig noses testing the sturdiness of it’s prop
gleaming ball carrier. Love, with mouthful
opportunity for instruction. The difficult pickled parts
getting wet for the rest of inimitable life.
How’m I getting away with this, getting my knob shined
on the high-end at Target. You mean Rodefer, Ashbery,
the online Thomas Jefferson sauna, right?