secret motel

I am wine trucking the hologram, the point graph ration, shin burger on the radio, constellations suicide off the outer berm, truck stop the wine pattern , the congress ration, the shift burn turn a radio, a notwithstanding burn center, pinching an eyedrop for the devil's eyeball, volcano helix off the cb turnstile, elevate the valley, and my shadow I stood looking at from on high, fall faster than sunlight, the speed i die quick on the furnace grill, surrender myself to eye disease and skin disease and dark valley of dental trauma, abandon the need to touch or see the bare breasted window, the shadow on its way to the laudromat and enter the light and rub bare skin of her back, in the bare-breasted light, and i saw your shadow in the dark of secret motel and could not sleep all night listening to you breathe, listen to the sound of your moment to moment and turn over in the dark and the wall sleeps deeper than my thoughts they just dont stope turning and too many thoughts to shoot so i go to you at dawn put extra blankets over your shape becasue i know you shiver in your sleep and i slip in beside you and i shake putting my shaking arm around you and touching you because it's been so long and no you say turning away and i have ruined everything haven't i with you destroyed the last nine years and you'll tell sarah oh don't tell sarah or anyone but its time to go i destroy and destroy pushing away so that i might shut down a little further it's called guilt for boardgame of ages 2 through Life

line break, he said.

god said let their be line breaks, he looked upon the paragraphs and said they were good

jesus christ has an erection for young women removing their shirts in bare-breasted light of coke street windows, spurt all over her window blinds and run into the park watching the dogs catch fire and torch the grass and trees and insects hum away into new planet wine maps, put the radio on auto-dial he said, dial my erection into great forest of spurting, green breasted corridors, mexican children getting raped and murdered in the rain-blow

punctuate my grammophone, dictate my radius, and cancel my centimeter, punch a hole in your fist and dance with ladies from new zealand.

and three young gentlemen named David Bowie, Iggy Pop, and Lou Reed arrive to babysit your children

i must go now, dear sweet imaginary reader, to damage the collateral

i love you. all ov you.

--hrld--