giving up

its 121. yay. have another beer.



when the last transformed atrium becaused a bellows
and the line breaks formed the next train of blog
i was standing on the sidelines cheering you on.
my knees was broken in the last game you see
so save a pennant for me, penchangeable at the lee side
this rox n rollz life is a young man's

it's odd that at the periphery
you can mix wind and wine then find the duvalier
waxing his moustache and the raised brow.

everyone says you look like jack black.
i think you're more handsome but wtf, we all
gotta look like someone.

you burnt my house and i gotta pay
for the damage? get crackin boy
borrow some money from your ma.

get thee to a whorehouse.



*















oh. dear. so blogs are the new new
i'm always one step ahead of the curve.
dammit, it's tuff to be cutting edge then diving
into ennui by the time it's fashion.
sigh.

what's the next trend men? retro?
surf back to the message boards
and do html? text msg yrself into existence.

no one's reading youuuuuu.
but do not be alarmed no one's reading
anyone else. mistly mostly.

do you remember when i was loved with you?
an almost live that never was //in my head.//
so many had you that way. and still you
with your essays and comparisons making charts
and a b c clauses to find out where the secret
might be stored. as if some golden key
awaits a treasure. oh be as too too as u like.
it's time for sentimentality.
when what you know is a passage
comes to pass
you are allowed nostalgia.















(


i remember a big big field it was
a long walk past grampa's house past
the pool. courtney and me swimming
the kites falling from the spring sky
who was that friend there. you never loved
me who was that helped me down from the tree
after you put me up there? who?
no one had wings i
never saw an angel without a chip
in its porcelain. my name would be liz.
not elisabeth. liz. low class
violet eyed. get her to play me.
i feel as old.













***






i lost the artist's way it's too
selfish and she will wait for me
i think . there is the daily to attend.

rushes to cut. supplies to lay in
for the coming snow. already the hay ripens
and the barn is not yet mended.

roll out the bobcat311 , the one with the cd
player and the autorotor. i want to check the air
conditioner. this weather's getting hotter
and i hear the lakes are gonna rise. better check
the OFF supply too.

mend the solar panels in the left field.
mind you don't step into the mines left
by the last troop thru here. he was
carrying it god knows where forty miles
east of the action, and we shot him
these little pellets spilled out of his knapsack
harlan show him your hand
harlan bent to pick one up and it did that
to his hand.
harlan displays a hand with the palm missing
a perfect cricle, like a hole blown
in daffy duck's body when he get's stupid on cartoon
network. woah
does it hurt?
naw. i can even slide a bottle in there
and he slips his bud long
neck into the space, lifts his hamd
to eye level and it does look just like
that statue in the our lady immaculato communion
line, from the side, you can see the nail punched
thru the cross his hand, sweat starting to roll
down the neck of the bottle he pulls it out
the other end with a big pop
like when you do that thing with your mouth
and finger on pop goes the weasel
adn i say it again woah dude
and he sez which one are you again
bill or ted and we all laugh and order another round.