Death & Taxes
mostly i am basically painful today and yet yesterday is in my sugar pocket, my weeding spouse and violent loom and blue water bin bucket tap drawer.
touch me with your moves, body, can’t take a shape right now, you’ve go to confuse the weight and strip my fear bone into cloth. i think im becoming less freak more you to you - why? time says what’s the hold up. does that even make sense? no matter, no narrative, no separation, universe mixes the berry on my tongue, oh yeah I always write in lists, bitch? you suck for that for critique. bam, boom, art food cooked and tabled upon this breast the breast of my watch, the breast of my emptying graduation practice, all who enter must empty, just harmonizing with the politicians, crying to find a new cousin, wearing down family heirlooms and kissing myself..