Text msg.: “No worries. My mom is coming tonight for ten
days. Do not worry.” He had clothes on. He sometimes had
a dental relationship. He made all A’s on hamburgers and I
got $100 from my dad. My dad’s presents not so much. Of
the charcoal haze covered up by the drug haze which covers
my memories, what memories am I going to listen to now?
12:15pm according to my telephone. Poemnotes are too long.
Controversial. Career. Before Macy’s buy underwear. Blue
and gay experimental stripes. Fitted tanktop doesn’t fit. Ha.
This song until the very end? 12:18pm accordian to my new
shiny tanktop. The hairplane arrives at 5:54pm. I think Taco.
I don’t know the erection. Anyone? Erections? Burg moat.
Bell directives. Drives word moats and sail snuff into rickets.
Not that, too. I lost my head in the directive. It shoved me a
new power: Fistfighting Pacifist-A. Go to the Taco television
and fake sitcoms like Everybody Loves Raymond. RU happy?
Laugh at me I am the middle-aged. Televisit accordian files.
Financial Times crisscrosses jetplane smokelines, makes hash.
Makes hash happy. No fit. Donuts 10am. Career headunder.
Big harp from A’s. Hamworries. McPoem. Teletickle.
