also indiowhen she tells me she's leaving again two mountains flash with floods and I writealso indio by ProtoRepublic
about the local mission/hotel in downtown riverside,
how it was built well after the spanish had gone,
some fleeing by ship some by dividing themselves with the natives,
and then cum or conquer? Both synonyms for invade,
both the preface of the Extrapolated bio: Everything might really be about holes,
which can mean death, mines, fracturing in the continent,
which might simply be the onslaught of coincidence,
the immigration of seawater into the smoldering crater.
But then again what the fuck do we know?
Wild donkeys roam beaumont. I saw a woman step out of a casket and into a liquor store.
The Improbability of life arising without sun? Check. The Inevitability of life in too much sun? Check.
In beaumont the lowlands herded like boulders in rolling wrinkles, dead beaumont,
ancient angry beaumont,
then moving on she says you will move she says you will but beaumont god damn beaumont cracks like a brush fir
washing curtainswhat does your 'C'onservative-criticism of me, amount to,washing curtains by aWay-with-knives
you still can't find me on fakebook, and I don't even know your last name;
my shield, in time became exoskeleton; my calling-bullshit second-nature;
if we couldnt die, we'd all look like you,
so who sells your toner?
fishonland for no good reason;
if a thousand candles consume
the breath of an infant,
what is the footprint of Vince Vaughn,
at your wake?
what worth have you invested, in idling, looking down my driveway,
through tinted windows in a controlled-climate, to tell yourself I must be
I must be inferior?
what happend to the hueman race?
who the fuck thinks these things, and who is defined, in reacting?
wishonnothing for goodreason;
if a million brides could wash away
the death of an extinguished-imbecile,
could Owen Wilspm ever be in on it,
for the love of the game
for the love of the game
alonestill the olympic lights.alone by ghostinafog
a bitter almond breeze,
soul-numbing & grounding.
and a band of thugs, and a woman waiting
in vain to catch a ride.
further and further away.
none of this will ever be captured on film.
you can erase the place but you can't
stamp out the stink
and how it accretes and why do you remain
so sharply eagle-eyed uncomfortable sober. pushing for a space
between molecules where you feel you are not
into the sanitizing chill of an empty bridge and highway.
a fascinated child,
your icy mittenprint on the kiosk window
now shattered but you know
there will be dahlias again
but by then
you will have crossed the street and
dry heaved grotesque self