(from    the Loss Lieder)

all that wanting
an object doesn’t know it
it spirals
w tears as droplets & tears as gaps
into my own numb (brrrrrr …) crunching a writhing wanted snack
decimal dagger point
or pet hobo speech backing plenty
what a century   sleeks to dub    as morning files
the ponces have only one bottle of
confusion or unhitched hiking
yes, Virgin1a, there are no highlands
drawl it forth
fuming in a stew
near fabric hit-design  or
nervous    an escapade illustrated tics toward
control device world
momentary      a clever pop idol badge
i enjoyed playing with the agents who
wd make it right for a horrible fear inside the moaning key
inclined as shyest  & caught, so judged
it was always easy to think   we cd
use the old-timey influence   from bits of tv
to sell the downtown
nested in a series of bowls  to the right of sleeping
padlocks on a lot of doors
smiles on a lot of bombs
a nuked wave always emerges
from ground-swell commercial scenes
a special pride awash
in a fund-raiser for the terribly released

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