Tuesday

Should anyone




If anyone had a way of becoming its Jill. Startled by  night  she holding a  furbelow and her hip shine wave.A knock knee savior  and shes naked under her dress skirt pantaloon with her shiny boot ass. A glowing in the dark with a ten cent love affair.And everything that makes her breast sucking work. O mouth O con O canting rose of the total humbug: take off your make-up!


                   ___________________ and the trolley__ the torn underlined page

  but her dress and  a steak house lover . coughing in the dawn morning to rift her sunshine.a gasp of sky
   and the reeling thing  . Not the bad guys and the dying dumbass war and gummed amounting to nothing.


And Jill worries the feet off her lawyer. Shes press ganged by whipping tormented  a catholic suckers bait not philosophy's tender and  rare moment.


A shook a wook and a book!

wake her up to the  cluttered fleer.

              and the goverment sigh





_

Friday

Jill

Jill crowns the hill of lost achievement and missing.  And that neighborhood.


She coaxed and fossicked the hollow gully trode 'mesate' the rocks and broom and knew she was doomed. Talking to few schizoid alcoholics was a double cross game __ tossed in the air by personality and place. and the dead boy with his banjo already embracing death. A north easterly blowing cruel on her bending body body bending and the assholes grabbing the tiller . Of the beat. Wrecking a near miss and a continual smooth ride and was real versus.Now if you're going to be a prospecter searching out gold better to get your knees capped then wait for the smooth ride. And she looked dead-eye hate to him with her eyes deadeye and the boy was doomed . to foreshadow and his own death. and the mother muck, shitfuck to Oedipus eating her own farrow. and the old bitch hauling off another turkey chase for her . breast was coming soon. to the imminent death of her turning. and this was the pain of begin alone. and the cops were everywhere bullying the death instrumentation and moraling the true freedom. And B.C. and A.D. became what was the clandestine event of its becoming which you thought was true for so long  and now nor more nor less the running down periscope . Of the world and its tomahawk dictators. and the unequal fairness of the one alones and the assumption of equality no justice existed and the Bastille day coming for theirs and the chop chop shop shop.


And  Jill found her ass on the side of the pill. Breaking its nether teeth for her grasp.


_____________

Saturday

if a buddhist trope

_______


  Jill knows better than to do this__ it reaps of the one  the sun  winking farthest from  "the come along" pass, 
          a rude thing made of star fetched night!


A knight! fain would see her severalling selves, around a twister, a tornado of busted grapes,a  loose wain to the wondering gown. It precedes this way, hovercraft to a maligned    blank spot. Not that it escapes necessarily the s but  surely it stammers piece  by piece to the bisexual hourglass a woman's body in night.





A night again. Again night and gaining ground it's gainsaying what makes a plateau fevered pitch. A noise gaining ground repetition  redundant  a sound weighing heavier as if it were  a heart not a  plate.




                             You lost it Jill not for every Franny is there  a mink moment. Nor a  Brigid Bardot wondering at the melon of breast. and the heard of what might become a tender peach to the instant of singing and your voice kicking  back what's better. And the  and that      ~ . Unending desire moved with the girl moving back her shallow back and    ~ O the Mouth    ~ .

_________



Friday

Saturday

On end

_____________________


Mona's buried four score and ten, And the blue ship, the rocking moat. Jill's boot-heels
tender to the touch, her oedipal haloo and leading rhythm section. Cut that baby making your head stand on end, and wonder to the end. A dock? a wharf she means with the pristine choice of her lips. She's gazing in wonder at him talking. About his school chum and other brigands a moonlit anecdote and the  balmy hesitation of early autumn. But if she gets ready to sail off to Europe none of it will matter unless there's a war. Sail! are you nuts! crackers!disjointed! No, it's the full moon of full moons hankering down the low autumn sky    ~ and the fields are practiced . At what? at being . Being? lovers and other secret  lavender paramours.

i'll buffo and buffo your buffalo house down . On the marvelous practicum of your love. 
And if this way she sees me good, if not what then . it's the round the hill and the half-sweater.

   Beckoning by  billet and fragrant two young women in their thirties waiting to cross the street. And the avenue glitters with hope, their hope lascivious with the wind. No 'lamnetala' this but cantilene to your overwanting sensuality. 

Who's ? Jill and Franny's and the skirt. Mona's not 'into' flowers. Say,  daffodils, daisies, and chrysanthemums. she  remembers them, had them, held them, cultivated them. But recall them?

Not a chance . She's whiskered by cuts and crates, and no flower remains in this hiphead, this warlocked remaindered brain.Without a creamy road a brushing preeminent to her path alongward what would she do? Not a thing at all actually. Virtually, she's got seven lives to give. so So what the hell. She's the ironist of annealment and scrolling along e very true tuba tune. Her lute's the fine passage between her room and the sun.

If this way she uncovers the pellet she'd find her way back to the reredo the repetitious concoction.A pittance compared to what no one knows else. If she's fishing she's headed to Cuba, for other masters  of the deterritorialized and the Silenus the silence that encrusts her worshipping thighs. Not a muster but a seal. If she'd foster tum-ti-tum she'd ring a wish of hamstrings and harmonies paid by the hour, but no such things work in her favor. Living on the bum is best made this way, begetting not foraging the link between sun and eye. If this shapely thing's her nave then she's best behooved in the tropics of yawning . 





Monday

schizophrenic palace

The schizophrenic palace. She's there/ Wear a gown.a presdestal. working vision of what 's not 

between. a dead word and place is not captivated by a noun climbing another . what's another 

noun climbing a deadbeat noun rivetted along the byline of  a sudden rhyming. Another vest and 

capture.


Against a lip a door  a swinging thing leading her thighs. Opening mine. Redburn by the wall of 

her fair tomb. Not a ship or knight but a splendid castle of rich winking lighting binding the 

brindle fair wind of her sigh.


That plateau is a fairy-tale of memory Mnemosyne a seventh winner on the grace's stalwart. After 

S comes returning C. and buried by the beck and call on up to her teeth the rest of the weather 

worn retunring sun. Reckons the place is best  kept by nuns . Escaped from abbesses and 

punishment.
____________________


Saturday

if Jill



if Jill has a hammer it's because. A jackhammer and a line of philosophy trails her. Train and rubbing phosphate oil on her . Blue dress. Her turnip. a woman askance glance baking . A rough dust hitting the eyes. And the yeses said by time. It's little brick and .













poet ~ your eyes  our  beauty
~oet ~ your eyes your beauty
eyes your beauty

to be loved by dark night
as

_______________________
it's the way it goes night and day I am a song
____________________ this works on a plateau shivering. mountain cloth and navy men. lover where are you body?
_________ Jill staring 'down' the steep askance.
___________________________

Monday

A n obveRse desire machine so fast

  The world's an obscure machine ... meaning the obverse of cure/ the model is the curettage .. Mona turning bakcward alongthe Russian hillside of her limbs limbing? her glance backward over the shoulder of her lover's kiss... a smooch along the butter lips of her ... body..


the unconscious is  a g reat   washing machine...  brain washing? O silly goose a play of  weasel and hamster along the den of thieves, lions,

and the smell of bodies.. obscurely limited by the absence of a lover's real hand.

So Mona  does the gypsy boogie baby wrangled and obscured  by the three sided lover kissing the vampire shadow...

____________________________ Mona: are you trying to trick me?
                                 ____________________Jill traitors can only see the dark fuschia leaning of their 
   turntable grammar,their sigh  glamor ____

                                                                      A madman's hammering !at the whole thunder of matter    ___________________________________

Tuesday

conference an collage



A bucket full. of rain. and other sore ankles. bear the cost.




stipend of stupid machine. the word machine as self goes back to hamlet

as is what was that other thing, celibate machine brilliant!

Now her head's near rain. A perished model to the hearing of sun, well let it be done.It's

no worse hither .




her head's bucket? come along then. A diary farm. A dainty air
And She? She's thinking of his thing, big as it is, inside of her, Woof! Woof! and she'd like to ride its solemn oath. If this is the memoir of  a turf surfer she'd rough his back pairing his feet, her thighs clamped his waist midriff to her gulping belly.


___________________


Monday

Would she could

Would she could, she'd  gather all living things:titubant the feet the troglodyte gait. No one knows a penny-farthing any-longer around her air . A fine fair trance.
 Jill squirms from time to time not like. But a cheap day, a cheap-side edition her head figured knotted rolling over a  switchboard and back back going to the pity of it, she's pot-bellied before every summer. And, and as for the hairy  one and its pretenses we know where that comes from. A man without a theory is a woman without a home.  Jack has a pink punk rose in his mouth buttoning his teeth for the end. Hardly able to wait to get out.
 She's in a tizzy, or a mizzen plateau. of glorying grief. One word after another pour.



Jill reminds her that if that pathetic creature is any measure of intelligence then we've got ourselves in trouble. And the fellow reeks ! the stench of institutionalization. A sickening malodorous smell permeates the character. but that's just a temporary moment . It's obvious
any moment's temp. As a part-time worker hired for the hour, to comely hold her
ass her cunt high held like an elevator between floors the man's mouthface glued to it
s hum-digger ties, and her text unreadable as any corset a two dollar epic storm going on
forever and forever. and she's seen the part-time lover punished permanently in exile? O exile of her ass as the part time worker coming in her face to face . And midsentencing break.
----------------- Back to Mona and her jewels titian?coarsely she's red white and blue, but brownish orange most of all.

if she comes
(think of the gardenia, the petunia or other settled plants that become flower. is that flower a hippy)  there's bound to be a catch or a snarl-up in the rhizome rooted soil. A patterned labyrinth of kilted songs around the spare wheel of her becoming love.  A hurrier a tornado a pickle path through the latest tender trying. A category escaping establishment to the moment of her nearest breath and if a tidy up was needed she 'd be the first to find out/


O my riddled mouth. O ecstatic static O plum! 
Rationing comes after. She's bringing the back burner forward. A bump,  a tidy hump, a ridge,a  lurch in the entrance, and the center of things. That said we'd better be coming and then let the pressure off. A giddy stance a coquettish feel for things her aptitude for reserve and English love. Silence is the golden throb of her so be it and so begat it. A simple symbol for coming attitudes.

Jack would rather butt sex than heads, however, However the raggedy edge of a  thing is god is it not? She's camped in a river town by ... what do you call it? Starry-eyed expectations   lover.

Toccata. Coquettish pause thunder reminder? She'd be picking crumbs off his locum.
If that's how she feels she might as well get a pinch-hitter. Any surrogate'd be better than that!


             A pleat filled memory jammed to the top switchboard whammy. A true silk nun,a fine knight of the rousing kind. And then some. Before Jill was made I was. She. Mona, and the merry monkey the chimpanzee of grief and the golden cucumber of the geese. 
Flying flung over the north. Far as any-longer rainbow.

_________________