dirt under my nails,
eyes dried out quickly while sleepy.
Cans without labels have monsters inside
that eat Mississipi mud pies.
The ground is like a (fossilized) black ice cube, coal—
(the whole world must shut down the coal mines;
—unemployment for each one,
burn the sun in your own hands.)
Remove the most essential core;
the seeds will give you more.
Some poets on the cutting edge of poetry
wearing linen clothes; this is smut:
caution advised if you’re under
15. why not better
keep my mouth shut.
I, who kneel
a Dog can stand before
anyone who likes eels
coz I can make it through the month.
Spent time on poetry, small
Each poem is one single coal,
accumulated coals with passion in the souls. Burns:
am I ill?
Let’s go up the hill and heal.
it’s lame the flame of the coal,
all depends how it’s framed.
The sense of getting old,
how much is the price of gold?
I can see the fall in the green trees,
20 stung, the bee
attacks for having a smoke
near the honeycomb, not
really a very clever move,
when was first time you went to a Blue Man show?
when I close my eyes I only see black,
but then I think of my six pack,
but then I see the singer in the form of fire
dancing and flying as funeral pyre
I almost reached the goal.