(from: the Loss Lieder)
music
tastes like coffee/if you could have/what is that thing a moon a life a breath
from the fall where life crawls out from the ocean/this is one (a)way they make
the words conjoin/it is still from a score,
or no scoring till the bottom of the 7th/there is punctuation
at the back part of the code/which is, automatic, like a 45 or sickly grin/that’s my point/they
got a shank stomp party goin’ you just
don’t wanna know about it\i haven’t been to one like that/ a key is an opening
device w past masters/or future slave,
in other words the only kind of flipping is in bright light/ gruff, as a
mythological goat across astral star fields/ line to the chrono-log sunderfest
sez: the portable Prejsnar is leafing thru endless back-translational appall/
a safety
(missed) match is compulsion/the new time’s a compact chart/home of office a slipup
is to thrive/sure, they were in historical echo an upstanding nemesis/writer’s
disgust leads to writer’s digest.../wow,
like the triviality of his day is a powerful postmodernist
statement/that’s been the print;./when you stint, when you sink that way
pre-empt is tho presentable just as much hear to 4 as a nurse is to nuptials/i
sue fonts to organize my soul/way leafing/how do you fix a system if it breaks
down in time?/that list is (over) moderated\or if it breaks across/air famed
slip jammer gets most of yr code wrong a regard/as if “troll”/the trebly air
guitar’s heavy natch context wrenches partly renewed weird tools /one here one
at home: less, Ness/the non is to slip
crud to love or to flee to fall to modulate in
to help/ to start
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