expand brilliant

we hand paint flamenco, flamingos

safe like nipple rods

the trees their red feelings

not how beau full

but what they give kissing or dicing shells in the sea


semiotics for the last

lancing snow

snail blade rib blow     the last


I run my hands along brunch

echinacea on the roof the smell of christmas bones

to your hip leather my tachycardia seems to me to be a lollipop these days





you control the strand codec blue of speech

orgy  fibers

knowing nerve to nerve cunt color shorts

breath to keep up with tangled sevens


triangles to blot the taste

melon round time


your talon woven tarragon solves pomegranates

turns orchid     petal   hash

to snow that gets my fuck life and warms sweet bitch rain into some soon ones


I write seventeen


songs like apricots

just lame apricots writing sex interviews on a saturday night


photo (6)

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