Jun 9, 2013
Confetti Covered Pavement
judged by the time behind his tool, eventually always victorious crunch of a leaf beneath the machine with slit eyes
weight by the dead and departed gone like the howls outside a fishbowl overlapping and lonely aside separated by their homes.
eves’ fruit or mans’ helmet wrapped the pipes of air hard sherbet separates aquatic at last primitive on the storm, blood, guts and ritual suicide samurai. self-inflicted truth of a punk, false or utterly absurd.
---Genevieve McConnell
"Any work of art that can be understood is the product of journalism. The rest, called literature, is a dossier of human imbecility for the guidance of future professors."- Tristan Tzara