Saturday, April 20, 2013


Fried Hats

(for my old man, r.i.p., born on 4.20.25)

this deepeyed bone of death throbs
(purple incubator) really a meteor of sausage
together cacophonator threadbare record shop 
 (pinned) to th' sky
tuberculosis heliotrope 
(internal industries) incoherence 
switched off at birth filters ruptured
y'never know
the wind falls down
we'll die up a tree (like a peccary)
that evil clay, right in front of the zen is, damn near under the
jeep, day to hate easily, I'm wrong in the head, mind, heart, 

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