Mixing the undernation twine-twirling squad of the morning disaster portion. All images are busted into brown danglers. Forget reality, forget personality, forget morals. It is time to dip downward in the faux-random haze.
In the kitchen I browned some meats in a greasy pan. I looked at my stomach in a mirror shard. I poked it. It bounced back.
I have no romantic tragedies to iterate, only fortress-like malabsorption of wrongness. I am sitting in my toast tower trying to imagine what might be of interest to someone who is
1. not addicted to methadone
2. not in a frenzy of split personality
3. not narcoleptic
I cannot think of anything. I am at the end of my creative tether.
I pray for a zenith of self-confidence and ideas to hit me like a basketball in the face. Night night my darling doodads.
21 comments:
MM, you must continue to imbibe of the morning disaster portion, if it inspires such beautiful post-toasties. You do not have to think of anything. Anything will come when it's ready.
nighty night MM. I heart you.
I am partial to the faux-random haze myself. Reality is at odds with poetry.
The bouncy bounczzzzzzzzzze and tetherlesszzzzzzzzznesszzzzzzzzzzzzz are the moszzzzzzzzzt creative szzzzzzzztuffmakerszzzzz. Amoral mangroveszzzzzzzzz and fried foodszzzzzz breed szzzzzzzzelf-confidenczzzzzzzzzze like a hit to the faczzzzzzzze. Careful, Mountain Man.
Buzzy Bee of Death!!! I am only interested in that which is at odds with something else. This is today's preoccupation. Lack of harmony, lack of agreement, just bristling friction.
Poetess, I am very interested in reading your poetry sometime. Please share.
I am choosing the best poem now....
I will szzzzzzzzzzzzting you on your asszzzzzzzzz.
This is the day of the mermen.
Their dangling members hypnotize
as my eyes are transfixed and I feel bewitched.
I am coming unhinged
by their licking and
sweet carresses.
I am a conductor of impulses.
PJ, that is very sensual language you are wielding. The mermen are sultry men.
Dendrite, are you pulling on yourself?
gurgle gurgle
I am after sensuality in all forms.
Wacko, I am plucking you.
Bee of Death, I would like to sting you.
cantankerous catastophy of stymied ambitions of the catalystic members of the communist party. They want to hold on and wait for the king to come back. He will not. There is no recourse but to wait. I will wait whenever I please of hope within the compressed air of the tower of zion. Wherever you are you are not here with me because the king is rotting inside the church basement during the turkey dinner.
This is too much--I must get outta this firey furnace.
there is no pressure on the need.
nighty-night, mm & critter-co.
It's so hard. Please help accept myself of me, I want to get stung and forget about the efforts. There are too many obnoxious things. Things I care to not do on purpose.
I know what you mean. There is someone I can't stand who expects things of me, I can't get away, it is embarrassing. Please help me to tranquilize her and stuff her with crud.
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