The m[emes ]or(e, love is always more, that
ex[oskeletal]tra line Kierkegaard writes, mor)phine
see (video game controllers forgotten on the floor,
closed roo)ms to have kick( this alchemy of soiled off
the b)ed Mary's ass.
You know, the epics start like this:
She's light and dark. I like being held in place and
squeezed until I'm blinded looking home. Jeran sle(eek
elevation, vacant and disruptive st)eps in angles
completely still. Caleb wanders into the second living
room, bo[nes ordered by function, some ]red
momentarily by planning blow-ups on a ruffled screen.
I'll plant kisses along Mary's( a frozen rose with
petals too frail to ) throat from time to time.
Drive's full. Adult-swim could be on. Her
fearlessness, war[ against derisive laughter; lean
back against and fuse with the fish, become ]mer than
anything else. Bad circulation gets around; my hands
and feet are cold.
Mary is a taoist Mary is a dadaist I live with a cut
of birds' wings bloody for a mouth and I'm living in
moody villages after midnight crossing a bridge lit
over a frozen lake
=====
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from The Golden Path
-
Type: discussion
Comments
The difference between Caleb and Jeran is.
Honey Nut Cheerios open on a heartbeat buckling. Mary
snores sprawled across those lossy climates. I'll make
you read this in certain units that accrete and sound
like struts.
Rat's always pushing at the top of his cage.
Ed is starting a sentence that contains several
nicknames and cultural references.
My wifey rattles gravel I. Tao like what's sour in
under rose petals, in under the rose petals in a box.
Do a short line. Smoke a bowl. My wifey like the Tao
with emotions is an Ohio girl. Like a tom(morrow
fragrant with tapestries, )boy, with smiles that curl
around you, tickle you sloped, tough like folly but
lithe with consonance. Tao skull lurking, doll bulls
in frames of Memphis.
My wifey is furry with hope.
Rough, like a raw honey lozenge.
=====
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Lewis LaCook –>Poet-Programmer|||http://www.lewislacook.com/|||
Web Programmer|||http://www.corporatepa.com/|||
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Morning ain't the opposite of nightfall. Ain't it?
Nope.
Shampoo hair and towel dry. Code runs around your day
like a thorny bracelet. Just as dawn slides through
Eastside streets, Mary's wet and moving thickly around
me. Every moment with her feels like coming. I
mistake, but only nick the insecurities. How are you?
Snow bullets with billows all listened across a
morning. I'm smiling because Mary loves me; I hugged
the kids before school. So warm and full-up. Powders
drowning the bridge. Nesting. More reactive/generative
objects? My grammar is angles. The Ganges: marginally
familiar. Not used to it yet. Not used to it yet.
First thing that goes is the sex drive. I made the
Kessel run in less than ten parsecs. Text gets me
horny. Mary needs to sleep, not make love all night
with me. There's a moment in which you understand that
love is as real as this rich paneling, and you stand
with a cup of chocolate coffee in the stream of new
morning light spilling from a window, and smile. Same
light kissing curves on a bottle of body moisturizer.
Light is a constant. The Alberta Clipper settles over
the Northeastern portions of the United States.
Caleb says:"Don't you. Don't you drown in your scar
tissue. Don't. Don't talk through a sluggish time
snipped to ribbons by Mary's beauty. No-one's ever
held you like that before. Don't you drown! "
=====
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Lewis LaCook –>Poet-Programmer|||http://www.lewislacook.com/|||
Web Programmer|||http://www.corporatepa.com/|||
XanaxPop:Mobile Poem Blog-> http://www.lewislacook.com/xanaxpop/
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"Hold my head above the water so–"
…………..still…../………………………………………………………………………………….alive…………./…………………………….
……524…….stil7…../……….2375…………………………………….279…………….581…………………….a71ve…………./…..2461………………………..cigarettes
and plump shadows
……plum…….still…../………..bloss…..um…………….cat……..frigid………..259…..here
I come………………..dozing while
working………………a71ve…………./…..throat………….do
you like that big cock in you…………….
…….SPIRAL……still…../….lin……ear……depressd…….There's
no lon236666807ger any question in my mind. Dark
Shadows is a Dan Curtis 527452production. Half-full
gla2545sses blurred by temperate juxtaposition. Don't
let go, Ma24665ry; I'll drow88888888888888n if 8625you
do. What owns is hot town15ship bones. Senses
ela5685237pse and spangle gangr8935863enous on ice if
scent l265ends credence to plump cigarettes,
fractu5557red shadows.
/…..could……….MORE………………tearing……..loveis……..**Living
Dead Girl says: yeah**Bach harps and hardened
art**lighting my cigarette lighting the room**to
understand your tomboy girlfriend**space**and a
sincere desire not**to fuck this up**love me and i'll
believe you**we who**have had**so much taken from
us**fathers and mothers**we who have taken so much
from us**i took**my life**and threw it at Living Dead
Girl**cold beyond a Cleveland snow**nothing in you
even or
fitting/……isshe…………….ali[###theotherkidsarelaughingatyouillbeafraidandferalundercoversyoupeeyourselftheycansmellyourasstheyseeyourdickBURNOFFYRHAIRBURNOUTYREYESSLICEANYTHINGNOTINACCORDANCEWITHsomesymmetrywemaketogethersleepingthroughtheearlieryouwanttosleeportakeashowerroughlythesizeofintimateinfinitebutfindingmoreinyourbodythanicaninmymind###]ve…………./….crying……………much……….MORE…..
%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20
%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20"
. $me .
"%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20
As acted upon.
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Web Programmer|||http://www.corporatepa.com/|||
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Externally, the text has a monkey-shit virus throwing
shit at it deleting things. My absence of faith is
famished from one too many watershed moments. Playing
games online. Connectivity at saturation levels.
Hurtling through the night to Alabama. Caleb blurs
mazes essential in outward drops. Dripping. Smiling
bursts of cinematic realism. Went to sleep with my
head wrapped in Mary Kay. She was sprawled across
oblong dawdling. We solve. We solve for. We solve for
x. Dissolution lulls under satori. Warped pores down
raw like limp light, I'd have said, had Daddy even
hurt rude oolong hungry droughts, hunter's doubt, a
hundred or more. If it'd been me. Lots of positive
reinforcement; so maybe I need to make shit up to
worry about. Cleave veal stout xanax cluster
showmanship Euripides, pppplural-like, wow I wanna tip
her over and fill her up. Filed down around it. It's
not fleeting. You know how trust sometimes
meticulously prevaricates. Grandma says hello. The sky
drops to dead blue. Mary. Hertz hazzard system hots
freeing hazing flailed lizard cobalt bounce veils
haphazardly. Freezing, after gray and stripped
firmament, back Ohio. The black trucks carrying our
lives. Night presses down on road presses up winding;
sessions of curves full on the Tongue like Mary's
white feet on the pedal, her salty halo the outline of
inflating. There are dark skeletal towers sucked into
wooded corners all over the country. Legs gelid with
ache chancre. The towers rusting to overlook
everything.
I walk home on Tuesday morning with loose boots over a
hissing bridge from my bride, hair rumbling and
array_rand. The lake squeezes into a river through
piles of slag and ore. Rolling through some tree-lined
streets.
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Lewis LaCook –>Poet-Programmer|||http://www.lewislacook.com/|||
Web Programmer|||http://www.corporatepa.com/|||
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"The robots comb her goosepimpled flesh. 'It'll all be
over soon,' she said. "
"He slips into the hole he constructs of crossing over
blackedout cities."
"She's taking a lot of time giving him directions but
i'm a cowboy difference"
"Twisted rainbow sugar pours from his crotch."
"Get it out of him, Ed!"
"Another hour's not gonna bother me. With a cigarette.
Whittling down. Between my fingers. Clenched in
cherish lips snoring baby tense with clutter. On
leaper pills. Don't jump pa! I love these scattered
these chaotic machines. We're weaving. Let's build a
family now Mary out of this moment poetry you're
asleep. 'Do my dreams difference when i'm writing?'"
"Nosebleed powder-powered fresh chem nipple flares
just a minute of whizzie drooled all the cakemix you'd
want."
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm"
"The elderly. Sitting on the front porch now, coked
and cascading, trying to understand the difference
between her white skin and deep dusk hair. A lighter
color pops yer eyes."
I was sitting around one Saturday night, watching
Murnau's Vampire, after having raised my voice with
the kids, Jeran hyper/linked and coking a nerf pistol,
my nose stuffed with all of it, dripping. There is a
bronze light, an amber emanation, naming solemnly
every object in the room. Count Orloff extends a cold
claw. Mary Andrea, now I fit and don't fit, we kiss
and I'm comforted, I am less afraid, though I should
be. Wait: Blubber Boy's back. Framed in a coffin
doorway. I was sitting around so waiting for writing
this down to emerge breathless themes that explore.
The tired. With that wooden Jamaican pipe loamy with
cannabis. We have a fluorescent bar that spikes your
eyes with sleepy liquid and your fist siphoning
phosphor pith alludes. We were looking for birth, but
all we found were the filled-in spaces between our
silences, and all of us here, photosensitive, remain
realistic. This text, for example, and its honeycomb
curl to nowhere. This rosary hung over plaster,
melting through your hands, whispering psalms. Blood
on the backs of his hands. Light light light light
light light light light light. He paused, allowing
time for the brightness to settle. Once her muscles
were as fluent and pliable as doppler gangrene
elevating forest simples from dust to suddeness, he
let his mouth thought calmly along her salty throat,
throwing sparks into the night like a firefly
apocalypse. The same situation, the same spot: I can't
leave Inyuasha! Drawing schema, driftng through
machinations. Am I itimidating when you first meet me?
When typing, you don't dot your eyes. I push my
glasses back up my nose, smile; the room's so full of
dull moons counting noise, dull murmur ambulatory and
balanced, the cars trill through ribcage cities just
to sit here, or there. It's liquid fuel. I was sitting
in Mary's chair one day coughing up cannabis. In their
world, everything explodes; they haven't reached the
edge of the paper yet, the swirls of thinner cutlet
tilted but lighting times her all over the walls,
asleep, bed of roof and furry dirt. Not fruit.
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