1. The Soil
The soil here is known for its bakelite schismaticism. That means it
2. Bats, Coltrane
If you’ve never thought of a John Coltrane solo as bats flying
up your armpits and through what you previously thought was flesh, then
you’ve been missing.
3. Angst and Potatoes.
I crumble. I crumble. I cry. I cre.
4. Ice Cream.
Savior dots - like lung lost stark attack. Behold! The man made flesh,
the word made ord.
Which would be “potato chip” in American. The Brits breathe
it out and sour cream fills the dolphin tank.
6. Being Mammalian,
the dolphins “should” be able to swim in sour cream. At
least for short distances.
Flower is not compatible with horizontal booksmell, as opposed to that
which is set on its edge.
8. Windhole Drippings.
Even the pigeons are rude in this town.
9. The Holiday Inn
Downtown is now an apartment complex. At any rate, it still looks like
a huge Duplo-block mushroom. The perfect place from which to drop a
Apes, it can now be said with some certainty, have values. They like
trees and fruit, obviously, but the new research suggests also that
they place a high premium on tobacco products and a good bargain. A
million years of evolution for this?
Like batteries, man, it’s all about The Cold Cranking Amps. They
were the best band/drug reference to come out of the greater Toledo
area nightclub scene of the early ‘90s, all dull wires and steel.
12. And Asbestos Rules the Day.
When they thought they’d got rid of it, the men in the buzzy spacesuits
removed their clumbersome helmets, scratched the backs of their necks.
The vermiculite puffed out, a blossom of flagrant mitochondria. Thus
was their blood.
The oatbran eaters achieve toilet nirvana this morning as well.
A fortified fruit-drink is almost as good as asshole.
We turn. We turn. We turn in spirochetic bravura, a caesura of take-out
There is no brushing, up past the lathe-stocking, principally responsible
I don’t like the shine off the ball as it digs against the bumpart.
I’d swear it’s political.
Lordy lordy lordy lordy lordy lordy lordy lordly lardy lairdy lrdy.
And times in chythmical chimes in dives and sullen coxcomb kleenexitude.
The Alhambra is responsible, again, for the modern trend toward bathroom
tile. Who said there was no continuity despite the bad electrical?
21. By the Time
We’d banked (I about wrote “bunkered”) all the Budweiser,
the stream had turned an ugly shade of purple. Time to roll the joint
22. Buy the Time(s).
Vert and ad, servity manacules paperholding, dwingle headline absolute.
“All the Mennonite food you can imagine.” It’s not
so much a meal as a mood, an ambiance.
24. Ender’s Loam.
And back to the soil growls over, the efernal camboer of the Lode.