Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.

Come see black night.  Black night proposes
                                                      mo­re
Than madness in a prophet's dream, sets free
A lean uncertainty, sweet taste of all
We dare not see.

My sweet Kathryn, you were older than me,
Knew all the black mountains--Olson, Creely, Duncan, Morley, Dorn... While I
                                           was learning
Levertov.  Your dark, unshaven armpits
Drove me wild.  I understood the honor
Of that crazy night--how could feather leave you--
               our dance at the outlaw bar,
Your sapphic gaze bemused by coal miners,
In cowboy boots, as the band played Haggard,
Coe, Willie, Waylon, Johnny Cash, Kristofferson
& Emmy Lou.  I wouldn't trade it for a date
With Miss Brazil, or Russia as it were--
Some people say you made that up,
Changed heritage and grew the hair to seem more European.  I couldn't care
Less. A great dark mystery I loved
Now thirty-seven years ago with me
Just old enough to drink and you come down
From Bingington, I loved the way you said
That frozen town, where your husband lingered,
Teaching English to native speakers.
I know you still loved him. I think you loved
Me, but needed a woman's touch the same
As I.  Strange how a night can be recalled
More than years, one drunken naked sunrise,
Pillow talk instead of class.  I ditched the speech
At PBK, can't remember what they
Fed us, coming for you in a straight shift
Chevy pickup, red as the night was black.

so Olson (#2), Honorarium

around here,
poets have been advised and disclaimed
the genuine praise of others get repaid
in kind, in k i n d

no, nope, not in
succinct pithy praiseworthy commentaries
that pays the quid pro quo bills

no ******* it,
a full blown poem is your honorarium,
you have torn open that envelope, and gosh ****, golly gee...
debts must be paid for the scales can not exist imbalanced,
until pieces of me equal pieces of you,

and I hate owing (for one never can be owning) poems...

Honorarium

this lonely business, never paid the rent,
at best, I hear them whisper, leave him be,
he’s entranced in other galaxies, breathing
words of nitrous oxygen, which has oft
produced excitable effects, copious weeping, hysteria,
and uncontrollable hyena laughter and
a sadness so deep, we fear for his retrieval

while
conversing with others in his head,
but when he writes of honor & love,
beware his bewitched bewitchments,
when all flu-like symptoms starburst all at once
the words are corded and stacked.
for fiery consumption in a hearth hearted fireplace,
word fries with aioli spice tendered in repayment

not a one lost, for those poems, though up in smoke,
lung imprinted, and breathed out into the clouded atmospheres,
dragon exhaling, poems roaring, stored and restored
honorarium in the crematorium of word debtor prison

an “the end” sigh dot dot dots the bitter end,
the anchor resting on sandy bottom,
at last, the last word, debt paid, honor restored

this, this
he loves best, when the beast released
and then returns to rest-in-chest and
await his next self imposed commission,
immolation in isolation...

twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(***)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics  
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** *******, you want an
infernal cataclysm...

really?

dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”

non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why

PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?

jes kiddin’ a leetle

"O!
That the earth
Had to be given to
You
This Way"* - Charles Olson
                
Impermanence is romantic because you
have to make the most of love
while it's still there.

Music doesn't play for birds anymore.

I'm having a conversation with myself
that has never stopped, and honestly, I want him
(the other guy) to shut up!

Recounting recent Vancouver,
humid commercial streets all lit up in midday
cafes cafes cafes
Sweet Cherubim with it's tobacco free cigarettes
and appearance of smallest India!
Traincarts full of familiar faces as time makes these tracks easier to travel.
My shoes are stained with fences, Seagulls do nothing but
complain and **** beautifully!

Here I am now, April 16th, Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal, I can smell the overcast and the expensive perfume behind my seat.
We have the French tourists, Chinese grandmothers,
and millenials wearing thick red lipstick, hair braided back
"What the heck"
to something by the SNB (more coffee)
read Gerry Gilbert's stuff, continuing "MOBY JANE" and it's
refreshing to be engaged with a local poet who makes
direct references to
Nanaimo, Vancouver, Victoria, etc.

Wind is calm today,
I find most poets go into the details of their daily lives and perceptions, while I've made it a habit to try and write about everyone's lives all at once, even when I don't know a **** thing about them (but that's the most interesting part to me)
anybody could by anybody else
who's to say?
I bet I am not as interesting as some may think,
I bet I am not as interesting as I may think,
I can't land a solid date!
aboard the last ferry I saw someone with the face of Andy Warhol and now I see someone with the hair of Andy Warhol.

OK OK
Back to Vancouver,
shorts while it rains outside (not me)
Gastown tangerine reflections off buildings &
my friend points out the non profit office she works in weekly/
10 floors or more of archaic steelwork/heavy foundation/smoothed edges/copper ceiling.
I hardly miss the smell of this place (or rather some areas of it)
the ***** and suited cologne, frequent pizzerias, vintage two-floor aged wood shops, perspiring neon Granville hysteria, Vogue Theater advertising a future appearance by Parov Stelar, I think Robin Pecknold was here recently as well but hell if I can remember the comings & goings of everybody!
Raga band plays beneath the window cleaners one year earlier emitting
audible visions of Calcutta's disorganized theatrics.
Some of these skyscrapers look almost imaginary in their modern sheer.
Glass and more glass with solar panels added in/absorbed heat and people's despondent attention.

Big blow-ups of spectacular strangers, *** is in high demand and marriage has become commodity///

"THE FUTURE IS NOW
COME AND CATCH IT BEFORE IT LEAVES WITHOUT YOU
AS IT WILL APOLOGETICALLY,
INNOVATION/WIRES UPON WIRES/LOSS OF CEMENT/A CEMETERY OF GLASS PANELS AND **** ADVERTISING THAT CUTS OFF TOO QUICKLY TO READ"

"EACH AND EVERY CHILD IS LOOKING UP AT THESE MODELS AND FALLING INTO THE MESH OF SURFACES AND FACELESS BODIES/NICE JAPANESE CARS/THE KIND THAT DON'T NEED GAS OR EVEN DRIVERS"

"WE'RE ALL LIVING LONGER AND DYING EARLIER/WHERE IS IT HAPPENING NOW/WHERE WILL THE RECENTLY WED GO FOR SECLUSION? WHERE WILL THE OLD GO TO RETIRE WITHOUT THE FEAR OF BEING FORGOTTEN AND ABUSED BY THEIR FAMILIES AND CARETAKERS?"

"WHERE IS THE COLOR ON THE CLOCK?
DON'T EVEN GLANCE AT YOUR NEIGHBOR/
WE'RE ALREADY BEHIND BARS \\"

"WHERE IS UNIVERSALLY PREFERABLE BEHAVIOR?
WHERE IS EDUCATION?
WHERE IS MY SELF
AND YOUR SELF?
WHERE'S THE NEXT TRAIN TO MATERIAL RELEVANCY?
CAN I FIND THE ADDRESS IN THE PHONE BOOK?
DO I REALLY HAVE TO WALK THAT FAR?
**** THAT!"

"MY FINGERS ARE WILTING/
FLOWERS ARE DEFENSELESS AGAINST AIRPLANES/
DINERS ARE GOOD FOR REST STOPS AND NOT MUCH ELSE"

"HEY COWBOY
YOU DON'T WANT THOSE FILTERED POISONS
YOU WANT THESE ONES!"

"HEY DARLING DOES THE RING FIT THE EGO?"

"HEY ******* WATCH MY BUMPER!"

"I FORGOT TO FILL IN MY TAX SHEETS ANOTHER MONTH IN A ROW THEY'LL FINE ME AGAIN"

"HOW DO YOU DEFINE "UNIQUE"

"I CAN'T HEAR MY COMMERCIALS OVER THE VACUUM CAN YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN"

"THE BIRDHOUSE FINALLY ROTTED TO THE POINT IT'S FALLEN APART"

"I CAN'T AFFORD MY DAUGHTERS PIANO LESSONS I WISH I WAS A BETTER FATHER"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T TAKE MY CAT HOME WITH ME TILL I PAY UP FRONT?  I DON'T HAVE THE MONEY RIGHT NOW/YOU'RE KEEPING HIM AND CHARGING ME PER NIGHT?
'no sir if the cat is young we usually find a way around euthanasia'
'thank god for that'"

"CAN'T WAIT TO GET TENURE/
ABOUT TIME"

"A SALES MAGAZINE RECOMMENDED TO ME PASTEL LITERATURE IT WAS SENSELESS AND LACKED IN ANY INTELLECTUAL VALUE BUT SHOULD I BE SO SURPRISED?"

"MY HOUSE IS GOING UP IN VALUE! now how can I implement this value to my life?"

"BUY NOW/SAVE MORE/SPEND LESS/
PAY OFF YOUR LOANS EARLIER/
WE ARE NOW /CLOSED/"

An Orca is alongside the ferry,
it's a lovely sunset beyond the series of islands to reach Schwartz Bay
this afternoon. I put the book down, stretch myself out on the seat, arms relaxed to my sides.
I only write the poems I don't need to think about.
Here I am, so distant from shopping carts
or drums or physical isolation, people talk of travelling
to New York and Italy, a group of young girls console their friend who's being bullied (I have a bad habit of eavesdropping)
There's people snapping pictures of the whale, now stopping as it
returns to the blue mirror.
Days never tie up their loose ends, instead it's up to the day after that, and so the next one, yadayada.

Suddenly the weight of this year floods in,
a specter of eager fields, goodbyes,
and leaving myself behind.
Where am I going?

Julie steps off the bus Friday night before 10 pm.  She has had a long week at the store and wants to get home to relax.  Julie manages a franchise jewelry story and needs some down time in order to maintain her fragile sanity.

Friday is casual day at the mall, so Julie is relaxed in her designer blue  jeans and black sweater jacket over her blouse.  She is also wearing her signature black and gold baseball cap that she likes to wear when it’s cool outside.

Julie lives in a busy and congested neighborhood and isn’t crazy about the two block walk to her house from the bus stop. She doesn’t think its necessary to own a car as she likes the exercise of walking, and of being outdoors often.  However, as the bus drives away an eerie feeling creeps into her mind.

Her eyes begin to dart from the shadows of the trees as they rake in the cool night.  The tall timber sway back and forth in the breeze. A creaking sound crawls throughout her mind as the acute awareness of her surroundings increases. Julie stiffens as she continues her steady pace. Her shoulders raise from the tension, she shakes her head and attempts to steady her breathing into a calm pattern.

Stop! You're fine, just like every other night, she tells herself. This city isn't known for violent crime.  Julie shakes her head as she tries to focus on just walking home without incident. Things seem to be getting quieter in the night.   Perhaps too quiet?  Until a rustle from behind her unearths her terror once again.

Julie turns around suddenly at the new sound.  Her heart is beating so fast that she can now hear it.  She stares at what is only apparently a bush in the dark, but she notices that the bush seems to be moving!

Her mouth gapes open in realization. Something,  something is wrong. A dark figure seems to be within the bush. Paralyzed by her fear, she can't move and stands perfectly still.  Only the light breeze lifts her hair as the only sign of life in her body.

Julie stares at the shadowy figure intently for several agonizing seconds before she begins to see what the figure actually is.  A large branch with its leaves still on it has fallen onto the sidewalk from a large nearby white pine tree.    Oh my God!  What a relief!  Julie gasps and puts both hands on her face as she starts to feel the sweat pour down her neck from the terror.

At that exact moment in time,

A man from directly behind her lumbers toward her.  One quick step at a time. Julie freezes in terror as his shadow from the dim street light behind her reaches her feet. The man reaches her just as she is able to partially turn around at his sound.

Julie blacks out as her head is brutally forced into a collision with the concrete.  Warm, red, blood paints the sidewalk as life leaves her permanently.

An hour later Detective Olson calmly tells his partner Detective Reynolds, “I can only surmise that this young lady fell to her death from a freak accident.  There doesn’t appear to have been any struggle or foul play.  I will try and get ahold of her mother in Binghamton, but this seriously looks to be an accidental death.”

There is something
that I wanted to tell you.
  
                                      Earlier this month,
I was talking to my best friend
About a lot of important things
such as boys, dating,
                                      and careers.
  
                                      I came across a
                                      very, touchy subject.
  
I asked my best friend
about my body image.
  
I asked her
“Does my image matter?”
My best friend
                                      responded back with,
“Well, what do you think?”
  
To which
I start to think about it
for a very long time.
  
When I got back home
from my best friend’s house,
I went straight
                                      to my bedroom and
changed out of my day clothes.
I was completely naked,
except I was wearing my bra
                                      and my underwear.
I went to the mirror
and took a very, long look
                                      at myself.
I turned to the left, right, and back
and did the exact
                                      same thing.
All I see is a healthy, curvy,
Beautiful young woman looking
                                     straight back at me.
  
I started to ask myself repeatedly,
“Does My Image Matter?”
While I was asking this question
  repeatedly to myself,
                                      All of the past memories
start to come back to me.
                                     I kept thinking and
asking and thinking and asking,
until at one point, I gave up.
  
Does my image really matter?
  
Does my image matter
when I watch TV, surf the web,
Read newspapers, magazines, ads,
and I came across
Some attracting people showcasing
their perfect bodies
And when I look at my body,
realizing that it’s not
Perfect? That it’s not just like theirs?
  
Does my image matter
when my mother
keeps on pressuring
me
and not anybody else
in my family
to lose some weight?
Doesn’t she like my body
the way it is right now?
Why does she want me
to change it?
  
Does my image matter
when I finally got a role
in a TV Show,
Feature Film,
or a theatrical production
that I have dreamed of
For a long time,
only to find out the directors,
executive producers,
And my agent
wanted and pressured me
to lose a few pounds and
If I don’t do what they tell me to do,
they will reject me all because
I’m not following their standards?
That I’m not just like the
Other actors and actresses
With their perfect, fit, &
Attractive bodies?
  
Does my image matter
When I joined the
Bandwagon of
Millions and millions
Of people all
Across the country
Spending my hard-earned
Cash on
Products upon products of
Hair, make-up, skin, manicure/
Pedicure, weight-loss programs,
Diet pills/shakes, at-home gym
Equipment, gym memberships,
Diet plans, and all that jazz
Only to find out that
It never works with my
Hectic daily schedule?!
Or it never works
at all?!
  
Does my image matter
When I watch an episode of
“Glee” that is about
body image
issues,
When Kitty, a cheerleader, told
Marley, a glee club member,
About how to lose weight by
Just sticking 2 fingers in
Her mouth and
Just ***** so that
Marley can fit into
The costume that
She is going to
Wear in order to
Portray the role of
Sandy Olson
In their school’s
Theatrical production
Of “Grease?”
What would I do if
I was in Marley’s
Shoes?
  
Does my image matter
When the professionals,
Scientists, and authors
From the University of
Washington
Explain that the
Media itself
Is responsible for
Holding up “a
Thinner & thinner
Body image as the
Ideal for women?”
That they also state that
Throughout their
Childhood,
Women are extremely
“unhappy with their
Bodies”
And the percentage
Representing that
Statement
Increases rapidly from
Age 13 to age 17?
Was I happy or
unhappy with
My body during that
Time?
  
Does my image matter
If I stopped worrying
About my body?
That I could just eat
Whatever the heck I
Want?
That I could just sit on
My ****
All day long
And not get enough
Physical activity
So that when I
Walk down the
Streets of my
Hometown
Proudly,
nobody would
Notice how big,
Fat, and ugly
I have become?
Would I just be a
Doormat?
Would I become
An easy
Target?
  
Does my image matter then?
  
Does my image matter now?
  
Would my image matter in the future?
  
Would my image matter anytime soon?!?!
Now you listen to me.
Just take a very, long
Look at me.
What do you see?
What do you like &
Dislike about me?
Do you love
Or hate me?
And in your
Honest opinion,
  
Does my image matter to you?
  
Let me tell you something.
As of right now,
my image does matter.
  
It matters to me
And me alone.

I dig Joe Rogan
Suheir Hammad
And Alix Olson
Truth seeking
Artists

I dig Howard Zinn
And Noam Chomsky
Dead intellectuals
Truth seekers

I dig Marty
McConnell
And Jason Carny
Poet lovers
Of Humanity

I dig Shakespeare
Mark Twain
Edgar Allen Poe
Emily Dickenson
John Keats
Percy Shelley
Ginsburg and the other Beats
Writers and poets
I will never meet

I dig The Daily Show
The Colbert Report
The John Oliver Show
The Young Turks
News and fake news
Comedy Shows
That expose
Deep truth

I don’t dig me
Always
But I like you
And all the potential
You hold
You are not a black hole
But a blazing star
Waiting to blow
Waiting to be born
The only good form
Of a hydrogen bomb

That reminds me
I dig Einstein
Tesla, Da Vinci
Gandhi Thoreau
Bruce Lee
Great Minds
That are dead

My list goes on
Forever in my head
So instead of
A dissertation of love
I would like to know

Who do you dig bro?

My mouth tastes like fireworks
Grown with love
Enjoyed with care
Blitz blaze ignite a truth
Obviously there
Watch smoke go drifting
You, too, reach to the sky
Weightless
Wordless
No less a person than the news
Under the influence
Under all things
Matchsticks, boxes, food makes
Mountains in our kitchen
Rot smell, cancerous, foul
Presence in our home
Under the mountain
Insect in flesh
I'm nothing more,
Am I, than under the influence?
It's true. Which celebrities locally
Represent you? Senate, what? Political duress.
Kaitlin Olson, say something poignant
Or in dark we die, speak well, or we'll be Jersey soon
Save me with your confirmed link to God,
Please.

We got 6 bars and 6 churches,
each with similar congregations.
You might say we got that perfect
balance between grace and humiliation.

It doesn't end there, though.
We're run by a council of six,
if you include the mayor, Orin,
who lost the state election
because he couldn't represent
a cow if he had
crayons and construction paper.
He's got some creds,
if you take into account
he built a tractor museum
in a train depot
moved a half mile down
a minimum maintenance,
travel at your own risk road,
frequented by the hormonal.

But I digress. Oh yes,
we have a council of six,
each from one of the six
similar congregations,
each from one of the six
houses of libations.

However, every first Saturday,
they meet, informally so to speak,
under the torn tarp at Ernie's,
next to the beach volleyball pit
nobody uses, between the dumpsters
and the railroad tracks,
to discuss matters too urgent
for the formal published minutes.

They crinkle their Grain Bin cans
like phrenologists picking
out small crimes that paint
this town true, rural,
downwardly mobile,
cordoned off at the rim.

Few years back, they annexed
Bob Olson's back forty
for one helluva football complex
for our losing team. GO DRAGONS!
But we gotta have it.
Pay itself off in five years they said.
Rentals, events and all that claptrap.
Gloria walks her dogs on the track
everyday. Return on investment.
R O I.
At least she picks up the ****.

Third and Main got ripped up
a year ago last April.
Ain't been paved yet.
I suppose we're waiting
for those more appropriate
appropriations to accrue.

But that's alright,
we saved a fortune firing
our Andy and Barney PD
while Andy was in Afghanistan.
Don't know how they got away with it.
We get two hours of laws a day,
Deputy Dawgs, and meanwhile,
somebody's siphoning gas.
Pretty much sure it's that Keiser kid,
can't hold a job anyway.

I thought better of mowing the lawn today.
I looked at it a bit. Betty, across the street,
is giving me the side-eye as she sweeps
harvest dust from her shingles.
Well Bets, you fussbudget,
I'm working two jobs,
six days a week,
to live in this runt of a town,
so back the hell down.
You may be eighty and spry,
but you got five, count 'em five
courters with John Deere riders tending.

You see, here in the heartland,
where politic is a game played
with cheap beer and hard glances,
where the clapboard houses lose their paint,
where the new, polished surrounds
of seamless siding dictate appearance,
priority and expenditure,
where the churches and bars conspire
to define reputation and aspiration,
the manure-booted men
are denied the dignity of manure
for a sham - for a show
that barely covers the crust and wrinkles
of a town dying slow.

asleep - the smiths
i'm in love with u, sorry - j'san
tonight you belong to me - nicole sidney
the bad list - z berg, ryan ross
i fall for the same face every time - z berg
we almost nailed it - z berg
bubble gum - clairo
she - dodie
girl - the beatles
here, there and everywhere - the beatles
something - the beatles
the long and winding road - the beatles
watch you sleep. - girl in red
i wanna be your girlfriend - girl in red
4am - girl in red
build me up buttercup - lara anderson
broken (acoustic) - lovelytheband
crush culture - conan gray
strawberry kisses - olivia herdt
slow dance - adventure time, olivia olson
the record player song - daisy the great
breathe me - sia
love like you - steven universe, rebecca sugar
love like you (reprise) - steven universe, rebecca sugar
asleep - the smiths

Perchance it loves me too?


<>
Vicki and patty m.
<>

no one loves the same,
the moon, or me,
or you two too,
exactly exact,
or, especially
each other

every stream of light refracts differentiation,
rays scattered and triggering you-know-what

it is never by
perchance,
always by
first glance

rays that are moon ordained,
plotting paths on the river and bay
that check my souls consternation
asking me nightly,
come walk on water,
come to visit me,
when I am a verdant blue

once upon a time,
the moon would come to me
by early afternoon, so had a
doubleheader of celestial admirable

moon,
for its plotting morning carryovers
going all the way occasionally
to afternoon sunlight,
as if it is like love
that passes
through a checkpoint,
saying, see!
a safe transition
to the east/west passageway
of your humanity heavenly inclusive

I’ve loved creatures,
human and even better than them,
feminine and masculine,
never made any difference,
for it was never a competition

my whole soul went wet,
Olson,
from then till now,
when the love word escaped
my lips, troublemakers, happily,
the misery it provided was ecstasy,
made the poem solutions even better

but by now, august August,
woe within me, strong the sadness,
the end of summer chilling forces,
makes sure the dividing line
is redrawn and love and moonlight,
once inseparable,
are again fully distinct and

perchance,
come September
hopefully I’l forget and I won’t remember
all the rest,
just the best of the best of
you two poets scheming,
how to enlighten the world
with blue moon words




2:16pm,Sunday August 25
2019

last night I posted a twelve bar salute to my homies in The Black Mountain Crew,
you know, creeley, olson, the rest
jack kerouac and that road trip
all over a dope *** beat
for real tho
shout out to nateive son
idk why but as I was writing this
I was reminded of him
**** game tight
with my yacht-master 2
18-karat on a jesus piece
i roll with my rolie
i ***** with my homie
Allen Ginsberg on Instagram
If you can believe it
but god dam Harry Styles has like 20 million more followers
so **** that
idk tho
Al told me we was gonna get a face tat
i bet he'll be swimming in clout

_ ______ 11 Light? On July 7, John Fox News broadcast two channels in seven US elections. In the 1980s, Nero and Nero's weapons were discovered. A night break can be light. Erasmus' Rotterdam is a symptom. This information came from Kenya on 7, 8 and 11 July. The decision was made by Juliette. He was a Jew. Give water to both drugs. On July 5 and 8 in Alexandria, April 7, Julia Caesar (Julia Caesar) marked the second world war on July 7, at 7.77 dollars. Erasmus' Rotterdam participates in different forms. July 7, July 7, July 7 César Roter idēmi On July 7, I will write the example of John Fisher's energy improvement with John Fisher late sentence. Paper, pen, accessories or the like. Write a letter by writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing and writing. Write letters, contacts, contacts, emails, letters, sentences (words and work) by writing to Alessandro. I do not know how to do it. You can delete the same words, songs, pictures, thoughts, words, lessons and lessons. The details follow each Ethernet address from the previous file. I did not need a licensed doctor. We agree with this agreement. July 7, president of John Foxx of the News 7-2 Nero in the 1980s, the 3rd Supreme Court, and in the blood. This company is a third party. The Erasmus program in Rotterdam is organized for this day. I live in Kenya. The new information starts on July 7th and 8th. The author, Alex Jupiter, was arrested on 11 July. He is Jewish, Giver of water to both drugs. August 8 - Erasmus, Erasmus April 7th   Epson participated in the sleep test group. Rotary settled on April 2 7 7 7 7 1 World War 1 July 7 and 7 and July 7 Saturday Julia Julia Olson July 7 Market Day (Market Comment Julius · Caesar 2 Rotterdam, Fish Market, Julia, etc.) We sold 10 dollars. The best bikini with thousands of whistles. Fire? The British legislative elections in the United Kingdom are called the John Fox News war (7) which influenced the city in the 1980s. 1 ... Eritrea, Rotterdam, Kenya July 8th July Alice speaks. The music is every day on July 7th. Jupiter is July this month. He is Jewish Give water to both drugs. Erasmus Rotterdam (Erasmus Rotterdam) 7 September 2000 ___ Epson also participated in this research. 7 July, 2 July 7 July, 8 April, Dieter 80, 80, 77 July World War I in Kenya, Dr. Erasmus Rotterdam Julia 7 July, 7 May in Alice An insurance? Kenya has a world economic level, women overheat, yellow-yellow signals continue for more than 1000 years.

-for Olson-

this gift of envisioning words repurposed contextually,
untethered not from meaning, but used in a meaningful but
newly birthed, eye delighting manner of speaking, well, so well,
somewhere between copious laughter, adulterated glee
and tears of amazed jealousy, mock myself thinking this poet
makes me feel like English is just my second(ary) language and I sadly speak no other.

I am not in Kansas,
I can’t stand but I am dancing
Atop table counters at the mall,
Crying out in every bathroom stall.
Razor blades take lucid shapes,
Cut it all out, but save the rage,
Compress it into a can of air;
Forget where you are and why you’re there.
Freeze my lungs and burn my lips
In the grasp of your fingers’ tips.
Arizona is slipping away
My shoulder’s ink just fades and fades,
I am not in Kansas,
I got lost off where the sunset beckons,
Oh it’s calling to me,
In between all my lost ideas.

It’s been a while since I’ve bought a dress,
Or gotten a pack of cigarettes
Then burnt them and inhaled the ashes.
Now I just see ghosts of ghosts,
And can’t recall the words I spoke
Years ago to Mallory Olson,
**** it I killed my memory.
You gave me all of your mom’s liquor,
When I started getting a little too sober;
Oh I would’ve spun so hard,
I would’ve fallen so hard,
Jumping the fence to my backyard,
I am not in Kansas,
I got lost off where the sunset beckons,
Oh it’s calling to me,
In between all my lost ideas.

The ceiling only ever danced for you,
I was just happy to have a room,
Away from my home and family,
I liked the fire more than all the trees,
They all spoke to me in prophecy,
College degrees, wives, sons and daughters,
Each day destiny’s a little farther.
I left you where I met you,
With pyrite and a tattoo;
The flowers cover over all the scars,
Darling, the flowers cover everything,
The flowers will cover over everything.
I am not in Kansas,
I got lost off where the sunset beckons,
Oh it’s calling to me,
In between all my lost ideas.

B&B

Vacancy sign, neon lit in the coldest blue,
cheap room, nylon sheets (easy to wash)
a wash basin, no doubt used as a ******.
commode with a mirror on top…Liverpool
is such a dreary place when it rains.

Lay on top of the bed reading Hemingway
I was boxer Olson the Mafia was out to get.
Steps outside I was full of angst
“Was it them?”40 watt pale light it was
getting dark.
I was only one step away to sleeping rough.