OH PIN LET HER

owe, owe, it hurt. yr message, it hurt. ze anonymous
plank of my own devising smashed
against me leg. zis cruel
Spice of LIFE!!! Leave ze
shitty poems be!!! youre
so to say
right
god nam it, celebrate colors IN traditional
art so to say free

to feel blue about
this, at any time
or another
on and off my
tittering
a peripheried dream, and oh, joy, that the
words i had
streaming
all day, now gone, and that
i'll regret this
and forget this, but yr
kippas assuredly
behind me, i've
no need for
the damn
thing, and
these places
too. they too
sticky. time
as romantic wink
and giggle
cross continent
it be, 'll make this
a jettisoned and
swiveling star
fart swiveling
around the sun, by
the time you've
arrived, haikuish
as ye do. BUT: have
seen the cards
splayed across
table and knowing
what they
not
mean, we talked
of other things: the

WEATHER. it
beautiful, by the way. i later
for 50 cent
consulted the psychic
machine, and seen same cards lit up across screen, in

the mangy corner as
a 15 yr old tom hanks, and we talked of other thing: the WEATHER, its
beautiful. i since got
my own cards. and the pictures
are pretty beautiful, kindness
for example and
the acts of
such. it seems alla
the bitter speculations
i've been propagating
towards it are of the
utmost
necessity, say scientist
ethereal toot, its the
bitterness which seems
to be dissipating, tho
the parameters, settings
and patterns that
i've constructed: dis-
covered, are
very much fluidly
apparent (its been 3
weeks, and i've yet to
change outta
landrys pants,
they TIGHT (so
as to get alla yr ducks
into my pre
ambling fucking
row i have
been to the quakers
house and have
sung. SUNG! as stephanies
brazil would concur! w/'er eyes
watering, banging the wheel, voice
lacing back into the
stereo, alls i need
in the world's
an ankle to guard
against gnats, thats it, by the
way, sometimes i
seem on verge
of gigantic orgasm
who's never fully
reached, i
have great prosperity, gain, travel and
alotta seepy
vaginas
upon my horizon. i
pass wieners
grave
in my own
way, tooting
my horn, which
he then claims, i.e. afternoons off
i stalk into the
park w/ fishing
pole and help
patrick fish for his
dinner, he's a great
inkling to blow
my money on
crack, booze
and it was
a great deal
my fault in
having overextended (hogwash
of ze fish in zis
age, it is advice i've

read

in a book. and
they are delightfully
being burned, everywhere, it
not a flame to be

played

with, as more than
anything the man
loves jesus
slinking by
his cratered lap. BUT. BUT. BUT. BUT. BUT. these buts
they are not at all

not at all as i say, these
buts, but i
wont explain how this
eludes
to you, seen
a little bit
in everyone, needle and
damage done

mr burroughs,
i believe that
was yr left
eyebrow?

yes. yes. reply mr burroughs. etc. leave
the sudden, eternal figure

a momentary lull

and ya did

and i chomped on it, and i sorry, believe, or
not, but i been smiling
about this
all day. if i really retarted
and really dont think it'll
happen, i'll go to patricks
kenya... to
india. boston, or for whatever
reason western mass: thats
yet to already
unravel

always always, and to whomever, brock