b4u

i stand here before you, not text.
untaming the go getter. we are
not real children yet, out
in the street, east of rain. the sum of the
yet unexplored keeps growing.
we've got four cases of our favorite things left
to feel. brother, i am yet. living around.
not sure what my options are, and
could use your guidance. suddenly
this life emerges me, out of the breaking water,
and again i've got something to say.
wish i could say it to you. god: is it
because i can't? desire is draining me.
i am more than i see. i would be a different
girl today if it were for you. of course,
we are not really children yet, but the rain
helps us keep track. and what's that?
you don't look in my eyes, but you ask.
i stand here, before you. went from
being. violently, across destinarys,
across exactions, with decision
as a cautionary tale. before you

Lulu the rainbow machine

Wattery eyes of a dog.
You were a fat pink
babe,growing your life,
little petri dish.

You did not know one thing
about pleasing us.
By your nature, you required
much medecine. People are
never sure about these things,the
worst part is the nonsense.

gone A curly little sense, inadequate
legs, coughed when we noticed
thus your poodleness.
it's just hard to really
Love such a thing.

But i think we pleased you
Lulu Esmerelda Marie
how do these things work;assimilating.
We think of you
with our own rescue in mind;

i knew you'd never really recover.
Your rest was right, i just hope it
makes some denials possible,for now
You deserve a better body after all

You were a favor,for you to
make a wish for something like that
of our selves. One more quarter in
the rainbow machine

and i hope it makes some sense to
you. It's a part of our design that
you wanted to know. and you were.
For what you did, you were
good. You did good.

in fact

there are no opposite humans.
it is silly to say so. in fact,
what the fuck is an opposite
and what would be the opposite
of one human being? today
we look out upon landscapes.
everything we touch we no longer
know how to relate to.
we are in our cars, so it's not
very romantic, and it calls for more
poetry. after all,
the body in use is the anti poem.
skin functioning as the epicenter.
the body in use is the
real poem. direct exposure to the
functioning events. so if i seem to be
preoccupied with my earthly accounts,
even after dipping my feet into these
here seas of oblivion, it is because they are
the things that are limited. it is
their nature. they are married, no,
they are opposites to time.
therefore the same.
inseparable. inconclusive.
you start seeing your sight and
then it never stops. don't you see,
we are not smart enough to tell
the difference. we need to recognize,
make use of our competitive edge. beer,
body, color, vapor, sound, memory.
that's the real question:
will we be able to keep our memory?
automatically this creates
potential for the anti. but
you have to say fuck it, fuck it
all, you must forget, and in
fact, fuck this.

some rest

slice me up, bitch,
i'm soy & unaltered.
my tendency is this brain.my body
has less use, i've got a mind to
bring it back. not unstoppable. not
an alternate and not the best.
your message sounds a bribe off,
we have one webcam offering but
no where to put the patch. bequisse.
skype the sky. the sun is assigned
the welcome garden, our
swollen adventure. somebody
stop me. birds are made of worms
i need there to be less cookies around
here to worry about- it's a stash, rip it up
in this place. it has been a realwhile since
i said please. the vibrations were me staying
the sense of our heat hatching
the bug sound. necessitizing, and bones
and bones and bones we are.
nobody really hates enough not
to know these days, nobody's got enough
handcuffs. need to sit down and
do some convincing; salt the film running,
beaming my own reference & write while
i puke it out. on the roof,on the
roof, on the roof, on fire.

magic

back to the magic-
it draws you to a deep risen,
calms you clearer, already
two layers of you attached.
what she does is really magic.
notice

"ping ping ping"
you're all alone for her. in
the garage, watching the scare go out
with the wildhood. pass to
the sweet nurture self.

the water, the blue
heat with the decision coming on.
the grass is no longer counting
chamomile. don't you know?
love is this is something it
really is. i have dozens and dozens
of these though
"ditto"

from start to finish, my massive friends,
in quantities completely unheard of
by the third world and the natural book of history.
including, but not limited to, the diamond
in the smooth magic, the baby
in a pile of cubic zirconia
and the receipt to prove it all. crop
for the coil of the loyal galore. it cries! where
there is life there is habit forming.
maybe the sky used to open up and make
an exchange, nobody can know these things.
we didn't have cameras then.
one collateral left against the damage,
must make use of this collection,
portioned for the clumsy future. where there is
death, there is a recycling bin.
trash bag ready, to move on or at least be faced

our taste

do understandings remain mutual in places of rest
where secrets give way to the moments they blessed?
from root to root, swinging, to monitor growth --
where no one asks questions of unspoken oath.
they plan for inaction, ten feet below earth
where static drowns silence to aid in thought birth.
and there is no sleeping to dream of proportion,
and there is no excess to create distortion.
each breath and each day, each glass of milk spilled --
we see only products these factories build
and seeping from objects, too small for our taste --
exhaust is a memory, time is replaced.