from a backdrop of cadavers
comes four hundred years with a handicap


from vending machine to station sanctions to coin in a vending fountain - no means succeed like exceeding past lube bearing depression machines - crushed or not - pins and needles of varying colors more wilted lettuce within an image of an image conspiring to be a fluxist determinist.

I need tomorrow - I need seventy-five more minutes - lets hope that someone in an oilskin raincoat has proper identity and is not another gog and magog on the rebound

now lets imagine boldness or shyness - too syrupy too radiant too heavy too lecherous - how about if I say I will say what if I say - you know what I mean - insipid madonnas both of them morse code as hard boiled eggs - its the last two minutes before the next before - before a bastard or swine borrows depression - lives in paris, orders humiliation over easy with a biscotti on the side - it’s quarter past a littler after the last time - go ahead and turn next sunday to a modernist misprint - no pain no metallica - keep smiling imagine nonexistent hands, a little too human - imagine thinking having a drink and having that drink - the mind is in the suitcase - to be determined later - do watch for swelling - and like scissors with sufficient embrace - drop a quarter in the machine and wait for the next.