Oh My Objects

AUDIO

I.

Oh my objects, how you agent me, creasing my tangents with aspiration

Labile time of whimsy and urge brings you each around, circulation bounce

Tap water eye color votes a queer ticket, has a purple left pocket calls bingo 

Periwinkle leather holster for gloc, lifeboats drop as soggy rocks on Berlin

Shock of the new therapy so good for economy upturn slim size unknown fat

Idiocrat place settings for dour, wipe that smirk off your smug, shut up the fug

Plant a bag where the moon doesn't rise, hook up like a trailer and blow doors

Friction is the plant-based alternative to having the gift for swing, Hoopla squared

Systematic irregularity is designer flourish while core functioning is a 1000%

Tooth and claw, everything the index missed, pole axis, shimmy options, "yold"

Fat lot-abrasive, call me some week that broke, sand down solid brace, drop

Silly objects getting off is not your lot, phat, fat or otherwise like butter. Harp

 Plays on. Oh my objects, this is such a disaster, let's keep it rolling as I am dying

Day after day more dead but for you, each a point of rot in a vista like ripe fruit

Going forward. Savor the pit, pits the angst once it gets bounce, against 

 Pop music and limps out with the echo of the sniffs. How the fuck do you

Roll your I's? Maybe this is not my language, my mother had no tongue.

Thingy oh thingy, the lines like marmalade and that harmonizer vocal that was so

Everywhere a year or so ago. Forget the tragedy, file the trauma, only hunt you -

 My objects, amongst the lines provided by merger with my demographic

Check the box that says no to other offers, get spammed anyway by desire

II.

Oh my objects, forgiven for your flat screens, owning my narrow window

Though it's surely bigger than some shades that could be looked through

I balls, each and one of us, to the tee and whack like Benjy, not the dog

Outside still though and maintained, Oh loss the bullet line trap ease for

Transit antiauthoritarianism to offer punch card for specials metro Atlanta

Rejoice and stall the danging to be done when it's too late, the asp is sweet

 Tempered like a scaly harpsichord at a Godzilla matinee, last one's eggs rot

Could never object to you. Empty isn't your fault, you wake the dream but it

The dream, is not your doing. The arch is broken for once and for all like a tongue

Torn out. There is a crowd and a large red ribbon and pair of scissors 4 ft long

Thoughtless clouds are the only clouds even now that the sky spells Coca Cola

Like chasing irregularities is going to help anything when chasing is what there is

Oh my objects, my little glitter bombs, the end is fast approaching with mag wheels

What would the proper glove be like to catch any one of you? Yes, I am kissing

 Judas. Nail polish remover and vinegar to take out a blood stain

From where someone saw the buddha on the road and the stain

Is a block long. Contingency is a simple trust, dumb and fickle

There were shelves everywhere I hoped to cherish on and wipe

On screens you shimmer like the starving water of the desert cart

Mine and mine and mine you mold and morph and mock you up

Territory is conjecture without piss. Summer gunking up around us

III.

Oh my objects, each with doowhammy thingadoids and whizzle knobs and pop

Lastly is as willfully wasn't, nobobody knew that - thunk it up, one says, it

Thicket report reads thorn, mood is washed out gauche with a hollow hauled out

Splish in stylized letters sideline next panel, hop sing so endear to joy of la la land

Do spy you spy Eigen values, lace-up sky around here and sweat falls are rain

Nice to not being fool nature for it, backlash of ground animality digging whatnot

Way passed I'm sorry stratagems, nightmare remix, the end of that dream love

Informs every bare slice of felt life since, trust is scarce suspicions of commodity

 Me registered trademarked plus the back-to-slave movements' basic mode, branded

Busted buccal borders bleed like the very discrete excrete discreetly, cuckoo pop

Objects always too hungry for dinner at 8. The rest of writhing, seething awaits.

Hopeless foot, question on Invalidenstraße but time is left with chirps and bloops

Empty soldier, ideological hardliner of nostalgic recourse: Die

Leave the circulation to pray to jugglers' jugulars and keep balls in err

On the side of alive, again. Chicken shit bets. Pretense. Nothingness

Rhymes with as if. The archaism of the phrase to drop a dime on, whispers

Of an ax handle and it wouldn't be the first time. Oh my objects, you knew

 My heart was like a group of libidinous college students, heading off

Out of cell range, to a cabin in the woods. But objects ran along in front.

I see you like dimples, like eyes, like what makes that glow when some box opens