dot

speaking in numbers
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3566 536 2875548 d5 the constant.
because it's music. i believe that one and one
make 2. i don't wanna i don't wanna




Remember when you
Lost the ability to
Write poetry and you
Could only go on



yes.




i don't wanna i don't wanna they've
taken away this outlet, this sand i've sifted thru
greedily for years now they want me off
the internet and belonging to them be long ing
inside the machine, give it up to them slave we've
tired of you, you could give more. you could
believe you could monitor each affair from inside ben wah
balls, the soft metallic song like a string that would go on
forever in three dimensions, like that movie carl
wrote before cancer came to town. she had long legs
wore fishnets. there was never any question
as to who was on top. but then,



I don’t see how anyone could really blame you



it's bad enough
isn't it
to live this life without having to
wade through
a morass of disco






I went back down by the mall today
To get my haircut. I was glad
To be relatively penniless,
Spiritually speaking.
To become embedded inside another person
Like a maggot or a bullet, becomes a kind of
Rule. She likes to duck behind it.
But then when her hands
Turn into fronds
And her abdomen is driftwood,
Sometimes, that’s when I ask the Moon,
What the fuck, so I’ll have a beer



so that when you finally sadly admitted
that your ability had gone,
head like a schizophrenic balloon, the summer
already shorn, metal head boy, zaftig girl, bimbo
rats and semaphores finding their way into the club

well, it was all better then. no pressure. the cab
came at eight, there ws time to allow a stop
at the bar with the polished wood panelling, amber
british lamps, gentleman's club pallor , you stepped
into the tiki inspired smoking area installed after the ban
went into effect. the way the waiter's khakis
rode his waist, effeciently,with a hint of hip,
startled you into dimming the brightness on the mirror
overhead. you order because you're hungry
and tip because he is. your hair thins, whitens,
loses interests and comes out altogether .

naturally this would be the point the baby begins
crying or the interruption of the dog/cat/frog/parakeet
cycle upon your musings. you plug the hair back on,
decellerate to less than prime speed and take a deep breath.

woah, that used to be easier. also, i think i'm running
out of fuel. things are busy bubbling in my world class hug.

to life, indeed monsier. how boring must be the void
not even whispering to get out. or wait, is that a butterfly
in a bombshell, is that a cynic in the tabernacle is that a
critique, ironically pastiched posted the next herionius mint.
what did she mean?what did you?
take the me out, aning. nice name for my next kuhshkah.
rymes w/caballah. gimmee a hollah
sometime.