(2013)
#Liar #Psychopath
liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem
we are nearly always a world which almost
I will meet you in the open air, & pet your pony’s nose. You will be
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring
got the sex drive of 15 young bulls, but the women are all scared.
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
first fruits hardly a handful, the garden
so, i’m in this spiritual war. maybe you aren’t, but i am. many great losses
webwomb’s not the maker of me. came into it as falling is done. down, only always
a few hundred million dying days later he emerges into crazy
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely
stupid met crazy decided to have a baby or two... what else you gonna do?
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