hungry
water walks the wolves
svelte voltage old against the endless day
tomorrow goes another way
weather, hey
ringing eyes
the slightly sighs (you sing
gnawing through hangnail things
hungry)
tingling/thunder—this thin wandering think tint’s tau(gh)t waiting ain’t wasted (taste(d/less))
wouldst good steak wake gods? dogs (sticks)—wait—do drugs
ugly eons
snug, snowcones congeal/suggest a smoking gun
noggin
gut
((none, nothing done, gone)/
hungry)
like a lumbering zombie, lingers the lame brain
blame invitational, nouveau-cational
school, no(,) vacation
novocain incantations
(()night! night! save sensation, knowing nothing
(nothing:/—writhing, frothing, scathing, smothering, ...)
uncanny paint haunting untold dreams, unending upended days (in name only)
no saying! no staying! aching, stateless...())
at least an atlas (mine mostly owned) lasts,
lacks stalactites (either tooth white, that height,
worth the weight?
not quite.) consists
of lists (contents, continents, covenants, ...) still
stylish and misshapen, escapin’ me the way words do
(the way birds (apostrophe turds) do(o), (number) too)
say: absurd thirds through
Up (2009, dir. Pete Docter) here, my dear, Where Eagles Dare (before my time, dir. Derek Torre)
there are no shadows anywhere. day is night and night is
hungry
greeting cards for discarded holidays (or worse... wars)
no hearse is this perverse—the (heart/purse)-strings go
snip snip snip. still it begins (whoa-oa)
egging on the engines, gyrating dynamos gin-guzzling gigolos
glowin’ out the all-you-can-see chassis
their grinding... is blinding!
now something I ingested has me invested (I fear)
now the words gotta mean and there’s no forcing
no endorsing this one
oh the show goes on yet
Ontario’s barrios (if they're there, they’re rare) in stunning stereo
such scenarios might seem hilario, but us squares care
(carry our derrieres with nary a snare to spare)
a spark arcs from the carcass, runs laps in the scraps
of keepsakes my little spiel speaks
on naked acres in spoken-fo(u)r(square) sneaks (a sorta sporty sort(,shorty))
or in this shit (it’s his)
oh, you laugh—it's no safety shaft to the afterlife
lifted all the staff left on file (out)
a foul hole left howling, (now)
hungry
underground, newborn nouns’ first cries
resounding, pounding a thousand eardrums (in lieu of eyes)
lying in the unquiet darkness hitting high and lo
behold! already these words worm their blind way
topside through topsoil(ed), waking up,
breaking ground, November showers hound the earliest
(the rest get it worse
death of the less-versed, traversed over,
sneakers reaping)
extreme esteem then must attend
them that ain’t dead
heads aplenty filled with the still living
(and what a living: English! delish,
shame us flesh shan’t e’er taste it—only
them that ain’t deceased)
b’tain’t easy pleasin’ sleazy, as on TV
even now, our every hour's colors run
upstairs paranoid palmsweat (wet
almost too moist) at the dial (dyin’ to die already)
flyin’ open th’ door (more more) movin’ fingers
(no errs) ling’rin’ ‘gainst features eng’neered
fresh caresses, eas’n’er into place
(less’n a second) skin, steel starvin’
(hungry)
of cold, carving out existence as(s)
depression on the couch
(too tight a fit to like,
too tite a fit to fight)