A Nanosecond of Rumblings on the Umbersaw Wheel


Chigga Please

She finally got her a new muthafuckin pen

Lost that rainbow one

Lost that faggoty rainbow one

It’s hot in here

Even with the fan going

Van Goghing

Cutting off one’s ear

But you fuck one goat!

Don’t treasure the tragedy

Don’t glory the gory

What you feed grows

There’s 27 of the earliest happenings

Shit cycle

Shit curb

Palo Alto Californo


Calico corn

Indian corn

Indian Housekeeper

Saturday morning cartoons

Stop  eyes saying

There is nothing to say

Go or don’t go it doesn’t

Matter anyway



2 hundred and 80-7

Pile of tobacco

Pile of tears

I tell you what Devin,

Why don’t you share?

Did you know I tried

Not to say seven’s worth of two trade dealership in call girl platitude over on the other side of sand paper and wheezing metropolis found 28 reasons not to cry on the running board of any cow college to straightaway fall face first on the golf course where the cowgirl elephant grows increasingly popular by the nanosecond and rumblings of fear never cast disparagers off stage coach whispers and scheduled hunks of raw flesh to not auriclize off platypuses or filth sellers to airplanes over even the worth to count paid administration on chicken head discounts and sat down with the mister on tin foil fallopian tubules to recant and recoil and take the stabbing pain away from the anus trade and jettison the wheel terror plane Jane Fatfinder sat on one Christmas eve’s super jet propulsion revulsion to show indeed which of the whooped-skirted Mirabelles came tumbling in on a sun port curtain  with WMDs Mister intended to place on dewberry lawn for the absolute rebuttal of all that can be seen or understood in the Winter or the bleak November for a chasm to call forth without any doubt the politicians who rise to the occasion and place on dairy tires a certainty of the absolution when the dwarves and demons ran drug money through wind veins and protracted among the sabbithians that there never was to be another opportunity to place behind the passion station any kind of justice callers but instead they had been asking all along about the overalls and the wheelbarrows and the union suits and the hot-without-trying and the whiskey I’ve never drunk and the hard-won orgasm of tetramer streets to be placed beyond the shadow of and all counting cameras the question mark of all seasons to say without seeking and crank the microscope down so tight upon the suede that the whole universe goes up in gorier flame and tell me if you would please what exactly it is that he’s doing when he quite literally as if by leaping on a whale he’d be writing this with the new pen in an old bed with the fan wind and open window and I proclaimed that there never would be a time when snow sisters could come together for precum and deliciousness and wasted time and circumstance to come earlier than they did next year and photograph the page because of what power and greed did to the callas with olgaratte lip to promise never more to count crowns or want grumming joy or displacement to seek permission and recapture the feather child mind who does dump in the streets but can’t crap in a pale or overturn deli-odious cheeses or come down between them if you know what I mean to know that pain is onyx-wieghted or put throne cushions  on purpose or dolphin island chick stand announcements to be marred when only the ushers could be contrite or the white ring of the fellowship where orgasms are citrated and I say I used to eat little Debbie snack griddles to the sound of a different television show and if I don’t know then you sure don’t know and if you don’t know I can’t imagine who could for in between the cake caller came 27 wishes one right after the other and the princess and if you think that the difference in the plan is the same as when thou carest, be relieved that you have got another feller waiting after laughter to know that when mink disclosure and fellowship calls only twice before marking it’s way to the umbersaw wheel.

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