Sample

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:

Location!

Location!

Location!

Sample

Location!

Location!

Location!

Location!

Location!

FANFIC (SQUIDGE!)

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.

Sample

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.

Sample

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?