pick off

How it would be? Another way? hold back that question stifle that syntax ring that worm-root hold that cannibal. Shuffle them frog warts grab them chicken-livers, shrink those cat-guts.

Jill's got her boots wrapped around the scenery of Shakespearian Macduff. Can she get out ? She's got her breasts wrapped around something else too and it's rather taboo and forbidden. So much so we can't say what it is. 'T'is' so overtly repressed these nights, a stinking rag, rattle of bones a pink tong.

Shaking , pissed off, peeved with the bloody betrayal.

She cant and wont. Wont be desirable to 'get out' as they say. But one candle points to another in a streak of crazy castles. How many worlds have come and gone since ? Each glance is upward and hurling its pitch on the stone.

What does it have to do with D you ask? Nothing except it's my D, as it s my Dt & Rt too. so my Shakespeare which is a love like god loving a creature .... Borges says it doesn't he in that story about mister s.w. meeting god near the end of his days ....

But Mona's titled and tilted toward the sun and continuing the chase for the first word last word.

A butcher would understand this wouldn't he with his bloody apron and haphazard smile.

bloody knight'd have no hesitation slashing the throat .





 JIll  "I'm talking about the start at the page turns you know, but its more lonesome when you're not  here holding my waist"

Mona " What I say is its' the whistle in the loneliness of height keeps me here held fore the night at its peak wealth"  Jill purrs as  a cat in cold heat. Franny's got the gif spoon soup wrapped already . its figtree rhyme with the end of xmas  in the capital world .

   we dont listen no more to hysteric s in foets   | there's wars galore .



it's because of rhizome i found them. are 'they' the affects of a machine, desire territories? that question's posed itself as the round wing of a moment's fleeting footing .

                         sometime under


Lower that vehicle gently .. we're coming in for a landing .. watch that stratasphere rotating...

                                        of the naked. but the clothed, the silk , the suited . O dependents. O departments you

                     went the way of suit

                               research / row after row / the same the same the same buttons clips, ties, cuff, shoulder boards, pleats and toes/ same /each suited row / the epistemological crack-down ....   we had to run......

its not Jill's whore talking that way but her hurried hair. This frizzy body is best. is beautiful.

keep them out you

out whence the river.....


                                           keep the worm peak

                                             open the bream . whale the furlow

                                                   tidy up your wormhole notes
                                                                        we're going for a  possible.




Jill &  very nice flute / or very lice toot? was the question of the forgotten desiremachine that'd keep the piece. a piece of molecule, of ass in your eye tag meant to be blown into Jacky's baloon . and the childhood going back and black and the soldiers have torn d o w n the street and normied teen is what's become of the Momaoedipus what a rescension is that the word ? this normie who wants to want. Or normoid rather with the lips redone a tthe cost of thousand an thousand of capitalist dollar . just to looka certain high cheeked jawbone lip puffed out a look the well fucked appearance of the body of the body? what body is this normoid queen of ripped fire? alterity celebrity? its not hegel's alien being fr sure? now what are you doing this on the Irish tilt wifetrading? Shall we bisexual our boxes? i ate rock nroll. do bone get bitter on old time island an appearance of noun an phrase torn from the likely bed of salt. finding this 'true' love as close to Platonic inteference as is likely. and possible as her thigh. was the tempting tense. of desire romance and love first beat. rained by the effort of the flute and the leaving go of the oedipus mama . not that it sank that wasy but the room was vacant not bodies there to keep the spirit up. was this the staging area of the dead? it's the living that suffer.

                                        ( america feels guilty of everything. america is guilty of its present and past . in spite of it s 'black' president . who's resident in the white house who's ass is white? the toilet bowls are white.....)

           it shld. too. what is the statue of liberty ? an old gate holding the rag of war (e) at bay? is this her torn skirt the blood others at the world wake? who's waking the dead of the snow felled city and the walkers . tromping. no  tramping on the country .. it's that word echo. of narcissitic pale.

on e calls back to the mail. -------------- Mona has buried the sun and revived the dead. this is in keeping with the multitudinous simulataneos resurrection

and the woman heavy lips of the spoiled          ~.

 and the reaching down of the shade 

   and the ring worn book of  


Mona's ha...

Mona's hamadryad's hamstrung by eyes and numbers, owls and vows. A right thing's she'd have to turn it round twice in one cadenced day,a capable numbering pausing mood, case, receipt, blank eyes, feet on the back of her spine and head. Beside which anything was a cake walk.A statation to station walk.

 Not that anyone, noticebabley t he kids, can tell the differnce. between a clock of mews and seriou studies in portrait collecting. An understudy would be betttter!

She's a communist cell of her own kind bearing the full fatter moon of big old days on the coming over the mountain soon. Soon baby, soon. real soon.

Quicker than the next period. or worse. epochs galore. Perhaps this is the utopia she was talking about in Book 4.

   Fat chance! O  Aj's buttocks, what buttocks they made you smile. Don't they?


tilts her chin

This way  tilts her chin  ~  Miss Jill the night's heat's your harbinger. Not a binge, or hard tasked bay but a pulling want to need what's given and lovin. O  saith Jill my Mona's come home at last deterritorializing her thing, and trinket will to better its boot. She's that way to any given close ass.

On the better bus her breasts topped out as teacups, two hard bananas, a duet of wondering minstrels, careful butts sewn  and seen, on the butt of time.Her carefull shirking after Jack's smile  Oooh this was pudeur at its worst. After all, what were those breasts doiing? sticking up , wanting to be looked after, cared for, tenderized as love bird