(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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