ummm
A scholar's fest, bacchanal, rages, I've been sitting here lonely for ages, When suddenly a lithe lady comes her cheeks like fine seething plums. Is there a love that kills? Splendidly slack, she swills A crystal of dastardly juice Around like a swirling goose. A goose in a little round glass Spinning round terribly fast -- The image, on my mind impressed, Is a little bit stupid, at best. I shake this wan thought off my brain, and begin to observe her again, this happy and bright-limbed woman that i hope might my life engooden. Her orbs of seeing (eyes) look at me startlingly wise, oh hold on, those arent eyes at all, it seems I for a joke just did fall. Peering again, more closely, these "eyeballs" stick our rather grossly. Indeed, if I be not wrong, the eyelids are far too long. Yes, as I say, they was false, false as my current pulse. Yes, you heard that right, I died in a car crash last night. ( commentary: a lonesome scholar unlucky in love is discovered dead in a car and his ghost is whispering these humorous verses in your ear as you try to shit in peace in an icy public toilet cubicle at the university ... textual analysis: the fine lady was wearing a pair of novelty springy eyeball glasses things. the ghost actually died before the events of the poem, making the whole thing impossible. )
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The shark's grip
in a lull of the unit-time measurement of intensity bedroom doors close, lights click, the windows dim to abyssal-zone slick, its cold, im too tired to hold my extremeties from convenient distances from the heater, so i just burn myself paroxysm horror i scrunch my whole body, and hear the fleshly mechanisms churning and crunching, harder and harder, i wish i could cry but i have not even a problematic enough to libinizise myself to try. before me the organs that denote our race palms downwards, i let my fingers interlace at the knuckle -- produced is a saw shape, the shark's mouth, a bony pale bear-trap what an odd figure, it's not really a 'thing' with a name, like a gun sign, or a middle finger, or even that intricate frog's face with a poking tongue, that i learned in primary school from someone... it hurts to hold, to squeeze. im scrounched over it now. there's not a good place to rest ones chin in, not rectilinear, not aslant, i can't. maybe pulling out -- some more room? My roomy chin? a bone squeezing sensation, not nice, niceness isnt concerning me now, im in the dark now, head in my legs, a clothly, hairy, chilly orb of wretchedness, with the single, unflinching kernel of pain centred in my inner hands constituting everything.
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Money on the bridge of sighs
sunshower morning industio-mechanic, fairground, the cold new sun's winds' clammy hands clench my neck and burrow through my spine the death of this dead place stinks like industrial heavy metals this onetime home of mine today marks two years since they shut down the place and the new trash became old trash, the plastic bags became antiques themselves buried in frozen mud by the duckweed lake shore where water milfoil caresses the waters that old photographs show to have been a thriving fake beach resort this overpass was designed by someone on a computer wearing a white shirt. the smooth green surfaces at the lower left are jungles now of dirt. im here today, here to play, in the troll world swamp of various species of introduced weedy plant species mostly native to afroeurasia. plaster crumbling old, skirting-boards wet with mould, green waist-height leafy scenes, shattered CRT screens in the duckweed covered mud reflecting clouds and trees in black pixels. who can resist a gap-world, imperfect, undesigned, a species of a slap-world, for all too muddled minds. My brain is like a toilet, all puddled full of shit, the big man called 'the big man' sits comfortably on it. push him over if you want to, he doesnt really care, though it's lighter now without him, the shit (your brain)'s still there.
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My friend Halbwachs
Earnest Halbwachs, you're cranky now and then, but I know that deep inside your heart a kind of desiring process occurs, like you hold that pen and twiddle it here and there, your big mind clearly moving somewhere far away, maybe you're thinking of me, or your parents, i'm never sure because ive literally never met your parents! in fact you never mention them to me, or your siblings, we just don't talk about ourselves to each other, we act biunivocally or something, i mean, we sort of trust that it doesn't matter, i guess, or we just say random crap and laugh, at the end of the day. It's embarassing in a way, kind Halbwachs, how neither of us has managed ever really to 'get though'-- ive known you for about three years it must be now, but we pretty much never say anything deliberately true,, always some ironic or stupid quip: it *is* hilarious, I love it, I love ... no, there's no * you* to be loved, and I dont even imagine one, I dont even try, do you imagine me? What they fuck are we doing? Who even were you? It's been over a year since you randomly stopped talking to me. now i realise how much i miss even your stupid, unfunny superior voice, but at the same time i hate oyu more than ever! thought its kinda depressing that im slowly forgetting you, who were my best and only friend for a good portion of my life!