Category: nonsense

con artist 

a con artist in the big house

   the tiniest hands the easiest of crimes 

  a stolen nation

stored rock by rock in safety deposit boxes 

above him

out of his league
toss him through the window

leave him at the side of the road 
into a pile of plug in girlfriends

discarded as hard to clean for  

fear of damaging conduits and coils 
that hiss 

and fizz and the sound of a can of Coke opening is the sound of Satan leaving your soul 
said the priest 
the church of Coke: 

artistic glass bottles of the 1950s 

shaped like woman you wanted to fuck 

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gravity unseen 

you said that these things were happening as a test
a test
maybe 
a test maybe from a higher being 

some omnipotent force 

unseen like feelings or 

gravity 
gusts of wind 
maybe it’s all pot luck 

she said a patternless mess 

of arbitrary

actions 
whatever it was

it froze you like a

monolith 

downloading Back to the Future

one

two

three 
French kissing your mum in purple pants and pretending it wasn’t you   
I asked her what she was thinking 

– she slammed the doors

– smashed the windows

– stole a car

– burned the house down

 -fled town
– two weeks later

anonymous phones calls where I can hear a fountain /waterfall / seasonal rains / hotel shower / pissing

– whispered words 

– a well fingered photograph of

teenage confusion: 

I knew I liked woman 

and spent years thinking I must be a lesbian – 

— erasing paragraphs from the bible like a child screaming with his fingers in his ears —

if it’s removed it never happened

—all those people in the cemetery never existed

vertical burials in the wasteland  

 

 

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more automatic writing 

        inside the clouds reading about
25 million domesticated chickens – when the missionaries arrived they said you had to kill all the dancing girls – up here
      breathing in third hand air from the kamikazes oxygen mask 

   the song tells me Lenny Bruce never wore a pair of second hand shoes –

          arguing siblings & idiot brothers 
                 11 types of meat 

the milk doesn’t taste like it should 

     the coastline is mountains and belongs to a country I don’t know the name of

—-mountains of cinematic proportions–a Hollywood adaptation of the Visigoth tearing through this landscape of people taking selfies & macho volleyball
— time and geography is confused — 
missiles launched at nowhere in particular 
I saw a unicorn as the clock struck midnight 
fear of plastics 

fear of plastics 
neauve rich Russians with gold crucifixes & designer swimming trunks 
      their tiny wife’s have Aushwitz bodies 
     

4% battery 

a bruise colour blue

in the shape of a country you discovered in you mind years ago

         you named it and designed a flag

– Mexico City is angry

– London Bridge is falling dow

my phone has 4% battery so I know time is short 
I’m not who you think I am

all my writing is edited by an office of low paid secretaries and retired professors 

             I use computer programmes and algorithms 

             I steal lines from songs and books 

       I’ve never heard of Robert Frost 

I’m a 3ft black midget 

      I’m a cross dressing reality TV star 

   I’ve been to all the church’s in Utah 

        and you told me you wrote to a prisoner

and told him about the smell of the flowers in your garden

you tried explained the taste of the ramen noodles you had last night
you described the wind and

you drew them a picture of a dog reading a book