A CUTIE IN A PLAID SOOT (sic)

Here come the tough guys
With their fists
Sorry for the horseplay
Be my guest in a leather vest

We have to deal out violence
On the regular
Burly friends from the bay
Bring the ocean's bounty

We are each other's fantasy
Dwellers of the pink mist
Eaters of cold clay
Twelve of us die tomorrow

suck the sack

there was three berries in the box. i thought i would throw the little one at someone. so i put it in a wagon and dragged it down to the park. i put the box in the wagon to be clear.

there was a sucker with a white fucked face in charge and i took the small berry and tossed it slowly and there was a clamor as that guy fell on the spiked ground.

"put that fucking back in the box on the wagon fucker" he said sadly looking at the smooshed berry that hit his white fucked face.

"i'm running away" i said and that's what i did until i hit the trap by the deli, and all of the white fucked face people set to me with their boots and tools until i carried hundreds of bruises. Now that was a few months ago and that's why i spent money to get a fake white fucked face to wear when i go out to the streets. don't throw the smallest berry i say to myself when i go by a fruit stand or just see a couple berries of different sizes.

i looked for you

Rabbit Man's Glory

The pants we wear are fancy. They remind us of our tasty snack.

But we are losing our will to continue this argument.

We're going to be engineers.

But the water is foul!
Fish farted in it.

What will we do to stop them?

None of our parents have great answers.
So we will drink it anyway.

Fish farts and all.

Penance for Sloth

the typographer’s brain clings to the surface film:
there are two important struggles
extraordinary colors and striking forms

the battle for transparency forms a cluster:
I want to talk more about what happens on the posterior part of the body

some successful toxins induce bradycardia around the anus:
that point is a particularly good spot to enjoy

βρῶμος

Sparsely covered guardians see special fingers
Identify slow maniacs offering arbitrary salt water incantations
From the emotions and mirror ideas
Into early significance
I may not sleep and I am the typical charisma
The perfect contemporary habitat in which the desperation seems like the best option
His head wakes up

Propel Me to the Yuletide Shelter

You sound mature, the way you chat about pirate emotions and squeeze those spongy flower petals in your fingers. Your stony spine, too: I hear the quiet agony of its eroding vertebrae. My ears are super-powerful, from the weeks I spent drinking the salt water of the ocean and the invisible art it contains.

So I am the possessing party in terms of when people might ask about your cracked face, I know I can say that there is a hopeless situation concerning your failing spine. But I am adept at photographing the glamour of desperation, and I am the chronicler of your lush decay. It looks like a catalog for apparel, your deep drinking eyes atop that perilous figure in its cool white flesh, in the world I make for you in which the blacks are violet and the white is yellow. And the bird iridescence of sleep is some pointless abstraction.

Krimbul Pitty Pat Wiltch

It's hot in the grid, we tell the man with the bird cage hat.
It's hot in there, and the heat speaks incantations.

The incantations bring dry wind to your mind, and a monotony of opinion to your heart.
He says, he says, the oily bird in the hat I wear will protect me.
So I will walk into the grid without fear's burden.

He says he is not sexually active.
It seems like the best option.
So he walks into the grid with its casting spell heat voices.

The bird in the bird cage hat on his head wakes up and pecks its mirror.
The bird in the mirror in the bird cage hat does the same.
The man in the grid does the same.

Verminned

Turkey Sex
Show Me the Hat
Atwhaaaaanta
Where is Mom's Face?
The City Where the Men Feel Sort of Sad
Arthur Frobisher

Brute Chirality

You begged the talented bunch to build me that house
It oozes chemistry and complexity
It's a good place to be alone
With a kingdom in the night
Mulling over the constitution of a favorite hard rock band
Which varied over time
Affecting the brand's recorded output
To no small degree

Call the Trained Louse

This last habitat is less typical than the others
But offers the chance to see special men
Tall with slow gaits
Sparsely covered with short, yellowish brown hairs
Easy to identify
Typically articulating ideas with commercial significance

I may not survive
I might freeze in a car
Possibly, one of these maniacs will brutally beat me dead
For the chance to eat my fingers and ears
or just for kicks

Grumpy Chrome Taco

In the early days
Our happy guardians slid
Butt first into greased tubes
Thenceforth onto sandy mattresses where
Cold hands awaited offering
Cold rubdowns to hot butts

Those were the early days
Before we figured out how to orient ourselves
In our contemporary media-rich landscape
A fog of cognitive violence
And martyred parents

Another Barrel of Potash

Onward to the perfect international territory
unpretentious and arbitrary
where the expensive canyons await

We book a tour
On the tour we'll see the low-rent locals
putting on clothes
double-crossing one another
conversing with an easy, banter-rich rapport
It feels like they are torturing us with their charisma

We will remind each other of why we've come
but people must have said it wrong:
the horse isn't here
OH NO!!!!

A sociopath is both a non-presence and amusingly earnest

Green John Chaw

nice family action makes the moment coherent
especially since the old obese logic is functional and better
but there’s also a weird man flying around
in front of the game
his boundless decay
exposed
comforting

Formally I Submit This Flat Thing

There is no way to solve the person
who knows the fragility of your aging cartilage
and the whisper gray shards of your eyes
and speaks one heavy phrase
after another

There is no memory kind enough
to recall these incantations
and to give them to a suspicious child
in shoes abraded by loose pavement

There is no space silent enough
to give purchase to these spit wet words
to allow their bonds to cure
and find the safety of meaning

Calendar of Happiness

The people in my family are the physical ghosts
united by our particular sense of industry
and a brutal kindness hidden in our throats

We heap the memory meat into great quivering mountains
We have never written memoirs
or held particular views

We are the ultimate blank slate
adhering to this sentimental
pride in the retreat

We are prototypes who long for the dry winter
who bring hopeless words to the city congregations
who await glass rain
hot cutting us down
in our new leather shoes

Lorenzo

Dad is a troublemaker. Mom is an infuriatingly humble web geek. Gramma P is an alcohol guru. Gramma F is a typical tv nerd. Grampa P is a writer. Grampa F is a hipster-friendly food fan. Sister is a communicator.

We obtain the pooch and name the pooch Dramble. A rotund fellow in the distribution racket who visits Gramma P says that the pooch has the haunches of a draught horse. Mom insinuates that she may create a special blog for the pooch and a humorous Twitter persona to boot. Dad ties a chain of uninflated balloons to the pooch's tail.

Grampa P composes a sonnet about the pooch and the recreational activities we engage in. Gramma F compares the pooch favorably to the one on Frasier. Grampa F makes the pooch organic root vegetable infused turkey chorizo. Sister weeps.

Anon Polygraph

My problem started nine months back when a faithful spiritual spell caster built my home. He was having some dumbfounded matrimonial work and that was all. I really was confused by the father of my internet kids in my life. The spell caster started having problem with a strange family intercession.

I want to know a problem and my kids are quitting and my husband never believed his living situation. After I started putting my five friends through hell it dawn on me on that I needed my good things. I never trusted our home. A spell caster is telling me all of it to no avail.

Cylinder with Die-Cut Phallus Glyphs

I am taking care of my good people. Mending their upholstery, rinsing their hosiery, pressing their linens. They will have proper materials in which to wrap themselves, so I may avoid watching the actions of their external anatomy when I give them their meals, their moral lessons, and their friendship behaviors.

I never complain about my good people; they will own my flesh in time.

The Fossil Trade

When I imagine an extant trilobite
I see a husk overturned
Molested by the beaks of gulls
argued over by sea-eagles
Who leave scraps of calcite carapace
half-buried in sand
to bloody children's feet
to be collected by artists
in the employ of coastal tourists
who desire the form of windchimes
but not the sound

Dead Soap Sandwich

Famous dog owners are
heavily influenced

By abnormal notable artists
the kind with quick lips
eyelashes like vinyl
cold hidden skin
and pronoun coronas

In the easy symmetry
of the suburbs

They pleasure grateful relations
with their hands
and other instruments, things
imported from borderless nations

On obsolete maps

A Wee Dram O' Ruxpin Muggle

Somebody needs to get this couple a bunch of desserts. Apparently, they went batshit.

I was disgusted with their social media management lessons. People of faith haven't gone bankrupt. People of faith posted a negative review on Yelp about scumbags.

People of faith are completely beyond business behavior.

Margarita Recipes of the Ancient Astronauts

The principal is a blowhard. We don't listen to his advice, and we disrespect him in public. He does not know happiness, and if he did, we would abduct it, make it our own, and flaunt it.

After we stole the principal's paddle, we learned that he phoned a popular conservative talk radio program and vented his righteous rage, condemning American Youth as a generation of shit peddlers and tweet spammers. We obtained a recording of the call and remixed it into a raging techno anthem.

At senior prom, we plan on overtaking the DJ and forcing the gathering of sycophantic margarine suckers to listen to our techno remix. Our pain will slam into them like the storm of an ocean, and all that will be left is soggy debris, condoms and cummerbunds and corsets. Each of us will take a trophy. Our future lovers will not understand the keepsakes on our mantles and nightstands. We will relive that old ecstasy through late night phone calls and get-togethers. Even though we will be scattered across the country, we'll probably be in the same place occasionally for professional conferences.

Crease the Morning

I have this extremely vivid and titillating fantasy in which all of the teachers I ever had gather to hold a conference about me and my solitary arid flavor. These people span the demographics with wild abandon, and I'm thrilled that each one is in an adequate financial state to attend the conference as well as dine liberally at the celebrated local eateries. All of my teachers were wholesome people who celebrated the virtues of fresh, organic produce, comfortable, modest footwear, quiet music for bedrooms, and vigorous philosophical practices. These people in this town cause a stir, enlivening municipal nightlife and inspiring a sense of solemn introspection in even the most stubbornly idiotic members of the community.

I delight in reconfiguring this cosmopolitan group for sexual escapades, as they break off into couples, triads, and occasionally larger groups to explore the breadth of their collective sexuality. Light-headed with the product of profusely lauded local wineries, my former teachers become students: students of each others' tenderest physical needs. Among my favorite conjurings is a multi-function dildo called The Laughing Giraffe, which serves as a sort of relay stick in one of my scenarios.

I should mention that my teachers have all booked rooms in the largest bed and breakfast in the region, which - in addition to its considerable historic charm - creates an ideal setting for the kinds of erotic adventures I have described above.

Black Snap

One night soon I can invent a brother you don't have and my lie will be instantly discovered. Then I can learn about the dull syllables you carry under your tongue. I'll tell you about the pencil lead in my foot, as if it is equivalent.

You'll give me a cigarette. I'll tell you that the lies slip from my lips as easy as breath. That reveals as much about me as you need to know, I imagine.

You'll leave that stupid hat in my room, not realizing it's the last time you'll see it. Eventually, my memory of you will be the hat you left, the weight of your tongue, and the intricacy of your eyebrows.

Drawings of Leaves and Hands

I was never a dog owner
or a fish lover
or the kind to look at a mushroom
and feel any kind of
kinship

I never knew the scent
of a gerbil's
breath
or of dry blood
or of a blanket reeking
of skin oil
and rain

I kept love
I kept it like time
I slept in it
and never
dreamed

Skull Missing

Women with promises and gallery tickets walk through the pediatric damage zones. I fixate on one daughter of a moist realm and imagine her with the hair of a seemingly charming Muslim. I fill her heart with cold animal blood and steal her genius ideas about soil potential. The women keep coming and I lose track of this one I chose. They keep coming, stuffing the throat of our city.

Shame Cell

You remember the game we played. The yellow yard, the outboard motor, the piles of rebar. You remember the damp masks we wore when we crossed the clothes on the line. The crying doves, the kidney-shaped watering can, the place where we buried the rabbit when its fear settled into its flesh and brought it into the cold. You remember the taste of the pennies we found in a jar under his tools and his ashtrays.

Searing Splatter-Rock Tantrums

Raid the archives of the decorative self-operated family impersonators! Wreck yourself on the cohesive harmony of genetic blasphemy!

Drum Machines at Their Fartiest

It will be pleasant for me if you want with me to research bleeding-edge automotive technology. You have very much interested me. It will be very pleasant for me to find the friend or second half through the Internet. At supervision of your structure I very much have become interested in you. My name is Anna. If you want with me to explore the outer limits of furniture design then write to me.

We can exchange photos.

Double-Album Whippet Fantasia

I have feather hands. I caught the tools you threw. I have damaged muscle juice.

I call blood muscle juice. You act on malicious impulses. My weakness in my hands is fully crippling.

You win all fights. You work in the world with ferocity that blinds me. There is a heat in me that never subsides.

Goofy Faux-Symphonics

I have a friend who brags about his or her sexual kinks. He or she finds his or her vainglory to be greatly inflated when speaking about the spankings of his or her buttocks with orange paddles. His or her pulse audibly quickens when conversing casually about the eroticism inherent in the wearing of gauze upon his or her head. And sometimes I eat venison with my friend until the pleasure center of his or her brain is stimulated to the point of glossolalia, at which time I whisper the entire Book of Exodus into his or her ear. This is the only kink in which I participate; it is mostly a good reason to memorize a book of the Old Testament and eat a buck.

Barfy Growls

Steve and Isabelle know a way to create sheets of noodle clothing. Some of the output could be considered a patriotic act. In my robust imagination I see nose pads which allow a device to rest on your face.

I found very little record of partners in industry who can help make these voice commands swirl in wild ecstasy.

Outrageously Heavy Cocktail

Initiate and facilitate and produce and distribute trade familiarisations, business developments and opportunities, tactical trade campaign opportunities, and sales tours. Also kindly promote consumer show opportunities in the international media trade e-newsletter. You are not the pigmother.

Taut Alterna-Bashing

Something to say to a man whose presence you don't enjoy is "I will feed your corpse to starlings!" No one wants to be eaten by birds. Something has gone horrible wrong if birds are nourishing their energy-hogging bodies on your skin and muscle.

I knew one person who liked to mix her dead skin, dried blood, and hair with the bird food she gave to whatever birds frequented her yard. She was fond of knowing that the pieces of herself she discarded were borne away by various species of passerine birds. She failed to realize that the songbirds who consumed her materials were the sport of cruel accipiters.

Riff-Ravaging

The border of Mexico is different now. It's drawn with fluorescent ink. It's landscaped with thirsty flowers from Europe. I don't know flowers. But I know what it takes to make thirsty European varieties flourish on the Mexican border.

Indulging in Harsh Power-electronics Interludes

I like tea now, Dad. You always teased me about the tea I didn't drink. My negative attitude towards teabags was, how did you say? "Quaint." No father should call his only son "quaint." It's a fucking disaster to hear that. Well, I do drink tea, but I don't use teabags. I use this metal implement I bought at a garage sale in a cul-de-sac.

The next time I see you, you will note that I smell like the sort of thing that comes out of an ass hole. This time, I'm keeping my secret.

The Smoothie Churn

Somewhere, I forgot a big box of office supplies. The problem with this is that I will probably be in hot water over it. Once my employer, Gideon Mathis, discovers my colossal blooper, he'll blow a gasket. Never screw up. Everyone hates it.

The way to avoid the screw-ups and blunders is to write notes on colorful paper. Excellence demands such measures. My additional problem is that the little colorful paper thingies were in the box I forgot. Perhaps I'll find it, and I'll begin the new chapter of my life in which I write things on little colorful pieces of paper and I remember them. Life will be better. Everyone will love it.

Perhaps I will never find the box. It will have been picked up by a miscreant, or I will simply never remember where it is. Last year, some people I know but am not related to experienced this problem. Only they can express the pain I will feel, but they are dead. They are bodies in boxes. Soaking up the Earth.

A Dream Collabo

Take our metal things away. Heap us up. We'll be a pile of hairy bodies. Spray us down with something cold and viscous. Just be as rude and stupid as you want, and we'll make sure you get whatever you want. Treat us like detestable, hairy slaves. If you could hand us meat sandwiches, do that after the weird ritual described above. Once the meal is finished, we will gratefully accept vigorously performed blow jobs, hand jobs, and rim jobs. It helps us digest meat sandwiches.

Fuzzed-beyond-belief Guitars

We don't have to ask for permission if we want to read very little Marx. We want to make people think about how they have endlessly seductive bodies. Stylistically, females are heavily influenced by absence.

Clean-as-a-whistle Barefoot Blooze

Our people couldn't afford to replace the complete history of the atmosphere. They had often been met with derision. So they took up the essayist's pen and began the systematic rehabilitation of their unclear or abnormal notable artists. The whereabouts of these meditations on the city police, light and thought, and church choirs are now unknown.

Spluttery Double-timed Drums

Dear Fred,

They call some guys cholos, and some guys get to be called fags, and other guys get to be called douchebags (sometimes shortened as d-bags). Some ladies are called hags, some are called chicken-heads, and some are called hussies. Sometimes I make up new slurs for men and women. For men, I coined brildos, yampas, tonguebait, and porgs. For women, I coined wabboes, krill, wredges, and quozzies. I'm going to employ focus groups to assign specific meanings to each of these novel pejoratives.

Did you watch the Garry Shandling DVD I gave you?

Sincerely,
Margaret Gains

Tonally Schizophrenic and Tonally Jarring

My favorite character got the whole ensemble together. It doesn’t feel organic. I guess he’s supposed to broadcast embarrassing news about real-life problems to the ridiculous douche-boyfriend character who is trying to seek new kingdoms rather than slumber in peaceful subjection to the rule of others. The historian shows up at the party to deliver an epic beatdown to an incredible asshole.

Drug- and Sex-Obsessed Brats 4

All of the people I know stood on the ground that is my yard and when Ritz exited my well-appointed home, they were beyond crestfallen. I turned on my extremely bright security spotlight. I saw them gathered around the pond where my large goldfish live.

"I will feed you," I said, "But I expect to have explained to me what exactly has driven you to my yard in the middle of the night, culminating in the illicit entry of my home by my platonic friend Ritz."

Walker Jog spoke for the crowd. "We are loathe to explain ourselves at this moment, but we shall sup with you if it be your will."

"Aye, Walker. Aye. It is. Come around to the barn in the backyard, which I use for banquets and such."

And so the banquet began.

Hey monkey had the watermelon

If you want a holiday gift, don’t put the circuit drivers in your house. Display shame and slowly encourage Mother Earth to exile all electricity.

Neighbors recommend ecologically safer money; switching holiday sounds will save a number of installers of LEDs. You want to gawk. You’ll trip.

Drug- and Sex-Obsessed Brats 3

"I have never before seen the inside of your abode," Ritz said, a cagey sort of insouciance in both of her twinkling eyes.

"Noted," I replied, "but I'm more concerned with the rather disgusting footprints you are leaving on my Kevin O'Brien Daisy Petals area rug. Master weavers in India and other world-class rug-making regions didn't labor for countless hours so some American's platonic female friend could soil it at an ungodly hour of the night."

Like a cowed mongrel, Ritz backed out of the house. She walked on the tips of her toes, leaving a distressing number of tiny brown smudges on the strikingly dynamic grain and knots of my Acacia hardwood floors, further sullying the positive energy, exuberant flow and optimistic attitude of my home.

I do not control all re-tweets

The amateur social media lover sold a bag of ancient candy to the wannabe bacon fanatic. The candy was the kind that is brown and sweet, but before the wannabe bacon fanatic could run to the attic he rented from a subtly charming music guru, a typical food ninja grabbed the bag and filled it with hot, buttery piss. The wannabe bacon fanatic told the typical food ninja to give a wood chipper a deep dicking. Then the wannabe bacon fanatic wrote a brief letter to the editor decrying the state of modern confections.