Lyrics
all i wunt
Al I want is she who wants me,
Wants me like the sea the sand,
Sings of me in the gnashing street,
Sanctions my entry and detail.
Al I want is she who tels me
Wut she likes and y she wonders,
Staring long at the monotonus,
Unafraid that the norm be noen,
And this I want cuz I noe she wants me,
But noe she finds it hard to tel,
Born within the cudling mother
Who told her never to need another.
---
butcher the pandas
The sanity-free centrality
sings its last requiem
to the imageless fence.
Horticulturalist resumes prior to coitus, please.
Entrepreneurs efface effectivity.
The thread phrases itself well,
raising no questions of jostle.
The legacy advertisement has taken from me
was only a transigent soul.
Someone stole my desire from me.
Tomorrow, I butcher the pandas.
---
cancellation of color
The cancellation of color has taken place in Kansas.
Litigant worm, what ancient deceit
lets you skip your synapses?
Children of the bus, communications majors,
a spectacle for the inured to war,
all your sensibilities in the brain
of the information-booth woman.
I wish for wheat discipline in carbon days.
I wish for another Kansas.
---
fenestration
I wish fenestration to be inherent.
I wish evolution to be sensitizing.
But it is not.
I cannot describe the beauty of preservation.
But I must.
I want to sleep beyond the gifts.
But I can't.
She was so close to my heart
She demanded that it beat,
And she was so far from my ideal
That I didn't have to fret.
She invented indescribable efficiencies
Much beyond my being necessary
And she exported every thought
According to the smiles it received.
He told me too many times
That he didn‚t know how to speak.
He sold money for money
Yet thought himself a mother.
And he built expensive homes
As the poor awaited a license
For wounds that mature to identity.
I wish them to save each other.
But they won't.
---
flowers at my feet
Wen poems drop into the budding,
Greener trees and blooms of pink,
I canot my hart contain
And start to think
On U who make this raptur human,
Human so to tuch,
By compare its other aching
U bring me much,
Able to within its colors,
In its Spring to be complete,
As the leavs us penchant flowers
Flowers at my feet.
---
god of brests
God of brests
Who lernt thee sculpting?
Thy deft rubys
Pulping, pulping.
God of out-ness,
Who conscribed thee,
Wut dul wage
To mold them so-ly?
For they ar luvly,
Thou art mostly,
Both the daming
Of my spawning,
God protuberant,
Dedly, greedy,
Wer the ingot
To thy crafty?
Rubric brests
Of spring suround me,
Here, bulb God,
May I perceve thee?
Thingly, bringly,
Livs my luving,
Longing, hanging
On thy flesh density,
God of brests,
Wut inurd thee
To engraft
Such mounds enshapely?
As a nimbl
Wasted kernel
Go I lafing,
Choking, gagging
After thy supreme creations
Milions rise
In spacial nations.
U the law,
U the fleshness,
Women wear
And feel thy yes-ness!
Mongst such iner
Malconflicting,
God of brests,
Ur children nippling
Art saved by thee,
Form unloosing,
Suk of al,
Vitals drippling,
I am lost
Unto thy making,
Brests of brests
Of brests my aching.
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hypocritically free
Hypocritically free among the weak,
And sensitively fornicating
Invisible dithyrambs,
Her body, the copyright of a semen grid,
Calmly bore the misinterpretations.
I said environment and nature cut out her tongue.
Noise was sold as biodegradable death.
Life is a random erotic synthetic design.
Take all as evidence of itself.
Mamaman is not dependent.
Let deception suffer identity
Thru a mental episiotomy.
Today they formed the 7th skin molecule.
Tomorrow, the 8th, O lord!
---
i am dun
I am dun with ancient songs,
With stiff, stupid rymes.
I want the harsh nudity of sience,
And sex with ugly things.
I want she who is most cherisht
Wen moking representation,
And I want to lose my members
And ly bankrupt outside.
I hav noen so many convictions,
Al my solem derelict cure,
But I am dun, and am returning
To the maze of a world unsure.
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in serch of u
U hav fled into the woods
The Yung deer follow
I have taken panicked ways
In serch of U
Remnants of ur dress
On thorn and tangle
Now the deer I follow
How they flit and ambl
---
it has ended
It has ended, another staging,
Wer she her soul dismayd,
Blended now into the aging,
O she who never stayd
Now is finisht, yet here she is,
Stepping freely cross our views,
Pure between the clanking days
Her diet music must refuse,
For she has ended, fazing out
By the crank of special moon,
Far in fear from those who chose her,
Ever near who never swoon.
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lost in u
Wer they walk
Wil U noe motion;
As they talk
Conveys ur notion;
For they are U,
Tho they hide it -
Not given U,
But confided
Gentlness
Of comon being -
Al alures
In U the freeing.
Save by al
Decides for U.
After evry longing
Shudders sleep;
As ur surface,
So the deep
Takes its mesur
By the need
Lost in U,
Never freed.
---
the mouth of ecstacy
I stood at the mouth of ecstasy.
I stood as her words bitched and tugged at me.
I stood at the mouth of ecstasy.
I stood at the mouth of ecstasy.
I wisht for solitude too sane for survival.
My friends were not my friends.
Spiracles of enflamed, immune tissue
Spit up thru her lips, rivers enraged
With time leecht down her cheeks, clinching me.
Her breath was that of a man too long in a dream.
My abdomen sang over the asthmatic
Birth of voice, each phonal epistasis
Rationalized my strangest hatred, her mouth
Spewed fumes in loco parentis,
And young birds and lawyers fell in.
Her music followed my heart
Into a binary enticement, repetitively
Licking her teeth, pride of soft in hard.
I have no time to know what goes between us.
I have stood at the mouth of speechless ecstasy
And I have seen amadelphous anthropos
and I have known that history
Is jealously religious in its ignorance,
And I have inspired a cannibalism
Beyond metaphor, or motherlove, or culture.
---
O fissure of men
Fissure of men.
How does health dwell with potential violence?
I let everything pass as done.
Done! Done? What does this have to do
with capturing fragile dynamics,
with anything?
Assuming wholes, particulars will get me.
Done? Done! All is necessary.
O fissure of men.
I pulled the human element - from its glass
and what do you think - I saw?
A numberless contemporary applying.
Fissure of men! What has happened?
It's past, so I give it one name.
Why can‚t I let the backstage workers brawl?
Not that it all has meaning, but it will.
Fissure of men? Now what?
O what now in this echo chamber?
We are separate. All is work and hate.
---
O virginia
Can I ever, O Virginia
Go agen your way
Lay beneath the pines that scent U
With you lay
Lay beside the stream that strews U
Gently al away
Cudled in the breez that blowz U
Agen my way
---
other-directed design
We each hav lain, once
Upon that bed precipitatly drawn,
And felt the dawn deride our harts -
Who is that beside U?
Wut do U wunt wen U ask y?
Duz sensitivity hav a sensibl end?
----
so i'm to sens of u
So I'm to sense of U but wut U giv,
Ur mood display review as it is meant,
And secret my volutions transitiv
That to me by the natural beauty sent
A spacius vent of symbols to ur end,
Composing altercations to ur peace,
Inocent striations that may blend
The simpl self with want‚s complexity,
Wer only may we instrument the change
And luv not by a picture but a soul,
The oculose remission passions range,
Gesticulations born befor the role,
Wich I wud render U, but now it seems
U fear but one perspectiv on ur dreams.
---
summer dawn's desire
We‚ve taken off our shirts and rumbled,
Al our flavors free to brood
How the fern of wonder mumbled
To us of the fulest, farthest mood,
One that makes our temerity rigid,
Oils that our fingers chooz,
Stelthy paths of feeling creases vivid,
That no mouth cud lose,
That no thrusting cud miss,
No inspissat wud forbid -
The biune spirit cleavd by a kiss,
And the rush that only luv hid.
We‚ve weavd a flag of our spirations,
Hands that measur handless flites,
Lips that blow in exultation
The wish-flame out on the last of nites.
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the autotelic
I fell on my fucking knees before the autotelic.
Telos is a means of nutrition due to congruent ingestional dissemblance.
I beat my head with the unwillingly dead before the autotelic.
My face reaches causewards with its preparing.
The clock is a project with infinite, pointillistic punctures of panic.
Alleluias of wide alluvias rise from the rivermouth of hate‚s ration.
The autotelic scheduling of coercion
is the tongues I teach my parents.
Design is everything in the doing, nothing in the meaning.
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Treatise on Efficiency
This is an initial Treatise on Efficiency.
Efficiency is what stands fresh in the fatigue.
Primacy gets its face from the hush.
Hesitancy is the nonbiodegradable refuse of sex.
Political reality is passive allopathy.
Some has-been left us only one planet.
All thrill-seekers are requested to return home.
Semblance humors tragedy‚s brain.
Criminals only blink at the light.
Hysterectum Directum, the new novel from the animal kingdom.
For efficiency to occur, the child itself must be waste.
---
wut may disturb the revery
Mite I once agen lean away from memry,
A lume to skim with seeing, and, fontless,
Set apart from echopraxia, revu
In power’s delusion this weakening nite
No claking of the cloven hoofs of male Spain,
No Sannyasi at my windo with ther yonder-greed,
No polination from supurating lukemic sporz,
But simply the open involvment of the quest
To clinch sum face as it flees from me,
And with its luv duresst, say softly then:
“I hav not noen emotion since my birth;
I wil not see emotion so nearing deth.”
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