Old Poems 2007 I




Self-expression is immoral
In these waters, through a portal
To story’s dreamtime, truth of sorts, so
Tell us a musical-themed action, forgo
Decisions not withstanding illegal
To properly impropered boatside seagull
There is no meaning in the puzzle day glow
For which you slaved your stubble step-toe
Not a flow or drip or push-pull
Only a fool would ever be so fat-full
Or try his best to capture feelings
In empty tie-died bullshit dealings
Or forceful brain-tried story-welding
Words or telescopic
Shelling bullets, that’s what I’m selling
Told you twice I do imagine
Sin so slightly, pleasure, muscles, spasm
Paradise found (wanting)
Introspectic, shit-fueled: droppings.