#filliances

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The Night Shell Issues Narrowing Adulthood Needs

Draft #1

[filliances]

Fresh spun cattle

Say no more (here it comes) Marguerite Marguerite marguerite   Stay asleep with me Just asleep Speak to wait Close but cold Hands freezing Still the eyes (a painted) Once in a gasp Fresh spun cattle Dig up the bed Yours and the Others I am gulping Then drowning If drinking Then stop The poem is over(ed)

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Runners on their Marks

Tell me to face the massive fractured beast. Vesuvius, no more. Tell me to grimace at my coffin in the corner. Value store marketing, bagging, the beep, the checkout those arms. The business plan of action of man. Tell me I'm seeing three of you seems to think often. Harshly bitter and sweet bowls are out of touch. Mixturize the seven-layered cakes of hell. Moisturize the low tide song the dolphin orchestra. Dark from Bismark to Nantucket are the strings. Mismatched cattle have a doomsday handshake hire for the workspace. Woodwork cabinet of defensive assistance is mine. Remember me. Tadpole to castle. Brittle angel. Kiss me, robot. Your ghost has no clones.  And yet you still vanish when I need to talk to you. A replacement dispute shall be had in my face.

[filliances]

And Equals

Face the whole warehouse. Face it with the face your parents gave you.  You know the one. The wild among wild creatures.   Married in binary. In duality.  The loud loud loud expressions. This could be the lost ride. There could be others. Mechanical square by square efficiency.  The shorthand for quality. Refereed by impatience. Do you have edible rubble or hurricanes of Xanax. Your clothing legislates like graffiti. And zen masters tune space stations. Bind with leather the compendium of flowing achievement. Followed by a zero letter word that equals happiness. 

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Sign Out

what tipper do your friends do on the internet survive on your prescription nicely cased in black between the ultraviolet without question not to dance on the kitchen counter graves making a mess and scuffing the silver tombstone and birth canal I wanted as a loud party of rosy people and brace sections drinking my extra wine and root brandy canals you know I don’t have a tapioca fire but a couple will always be on hand that’s why you saw my last divorce running around tonight post authentic sunlight

[filliances]

The Village by the Waves

Earth is the tiniest big object, none made it with fingers plastered by crumbs of duckbills, the original art form and quite early by museum historical accounts that required the ventures of assigned archaeological digs out and impregnated new worlds as opposed to retelling or copying amazing insides or living around other people when they tap into their creative galaxies erupting from a celestial organ faster than the roads let pedestrians get in their trucks or the speed at which they fall in love on the second guess and take a test to prove satisfaction can be lost before the gaurantee and warantee are made miles in the sky as an escape for the marriage forefathers and poor mothers under a church to cry for their deaths were so blue fireballs from the land owned by a small inheritance with moss roof, moss garden, moss rock fence, and their backs were bent and blinded by heresy in the riches dirt first come with dawn and worms who have the stories to find the new world and to populate the terrestrial hemispheres

[filliances]

State Myth

Inside I swing a bat using the tangled muscles of a bull. The strained rampage comes when there is a joining of silk, Losing touch, and vintage sand stranded underneath. An embrace of leather, skinned, tanned, plentiful, stinging. Farbeit for the fox and the firework to frolic in obvious range. Luteous is the taste of the beach smiling under sunglasses. Expect, again, expect, and inspect the towel, striped. See the rings, necklace, controlled braids, and the pure hush. Epileptic absence is on my end, I say in my journals. The forbearance of puce on marble lays its claim. There is no suppressant for desire at hand.  Short term wins out, soliloquy ensues.  I taste her completely, accurately. Sweet to kill.

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August

I’m afraid if I buy you anything, you’ll leave; my own jokes, I can’t read a crowd, and my mouth can’t test things out fast enough, so you become the lab rat, I’m sorry for that, I know you hate animal testing; I’m going to ask someone else to sleep with me; poetry lectures about a vast number of human feelings, the class took notes or got distracted, I searched and failed; I’m weak from teasing, but I’m taken down the stairs to food; looking at photos again, eyes can’t hold, rip or tear, and memories ten go blank; closed loop, except when it’s open to interpenetration; I was tired before you finished the compliment; When I’m around, I say stay away.