blame no one and burn the evidence
on the way out the door
root cellar more fuck
less pretenses served sustainable
glandular organ-eye-sate-tie-on oceans...
impulse-rs/rn practition-ers find-ers
wary-ists wound winding curd circuses
and hospital front lines to i-cue adept adaptive views
dictation is being on point in a fatal swallowed by questioning...
legends are passed down
generation to generation
neon sign by circle wood embroidery poems...
avoiding contact with flushing agents first
impulsed weed hoe-d, who the fuck are we
seed driving armies humans arms legs
teeming with anyway(s)
chemical cabal
pheromones
epiphanies
and luck are
alliances that hunt
the genomes, gnomes
and red mushrooms
with white dots
like built-ins inside
limestone caves
when storing loot
we use weather
to record mood
noun and perspective...
I'm that mixed smell artist
that middle aged man
who is dragging his fantasy
around in temporary plumes
the one you just passed
in the checkout line...
and yes, I noticed
you were trying
not to notice me
and while so, poem
slow check-ed you out
your ass, coloring
my verbs
a-position-ing
the possible(s)...
EJR ©
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