Name this! I dare you.
nothing like
bug corpses
on genteel porches
something so middle southern
(pronouncing "sutherin")
something gentrified difference
twixt:
chicken fried and fried chicken
picking grapes and opening a grocery
sorcerer stealing grape jobs from backbones
Lately I am having trouble keeping straight people from time from dates. Phrases. Notes are no help; not lists; no order. Order is the problem. What are my office hours, for an instant? Are they six or Elliott or young and disinterested? And how much bus fair is a paper, is a good paper; how many minutes is too many minutes is it to two?
And break comes at supple breasts, or pizza, or passwords. Hard comp. No insurance. Drink union steward beer and knock off its wife, suck its taxes' dick hard, knock up its four o'clock thunder. Never made it. Four wares, which ones? Alpha-numeric carpet tufts, two meals as book ends, four books, blue stores when numbers bent to climb rich.
The only last bus is only at times I can't comprehend. Understand a nine leg table, all tan, bullets Kansas are the answer, all 9:43 two times snooze of it. Husk, dust, shell, nine, smile wide. This is your card, eleven twelve, thirteen to two to two.
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1 comment:
Well I think you need to write a series poems all dealing with The Baumann Line. 15-20, in that ballpark.
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