macro

(frm:    the Loss Lieder)

you need a dawn at fakery implosion set to plinth

all fittings in the there slam german cross railroaded &

break him on a steering wheel, hemp flit around or to bulldoze

riddled at our fabric, alley curbed at the one

cluster hash will bomb a nearer escape button

clause is weaponize ambit swath

ask, where you goin with that thing?

drive right off the road with shrugging

you don’t gotta correct spiteful jerks, just a mildly

apoplectic gang that wanders incinerating boardwalks

hop scotch or gin faith goes blink flick;

what’s crossed out is especially useable:  a deadbolt

hit by a thunderbolt ....  nippy out here!

asks that overcast logo manager;

shot under drive bye-bye calculation by

the doppelgangbangers,  actual seams in the

underlying reality?  or just in re-alterity?

they’ve got automated wake-up calls to

nudge me at the banister into wishy-washy mishmash up

or possibly across  ... it’s a brain-teaser

or maybe a mock-up for drifting thru not-here