andrew early
New books are expensive, not that they're not worth it, but the financial loss is significant, sometimes so that I cannot eat what I want but must settle with the writing I read.
Two cats are better than one; you have something to relate. Water is usually emptiness, smoke fills a lung better than water, but drudgery lasts longer than winter. A brilliantly bleak nightmare in snow.
Forest cats have a life of their own. Feral people understand why we live the way we do. The woods are better than the beams. Tracing night leaves a quickness of morning to lead in the trees.
Removing conjugation, delineating adverbs, delivering adjectives, it's a wonder some can sleep at night. In their azucar daydreams, their salty night sweats, and the one and only grave branch.
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Overstating the field filed under country without once-more temptings scratching out-of-line and inside the lecherous grime of mirrored windows white light glare so some passing passionate insects stare to wonder if the first crime was not the end of another beginning the night-corner lit with singular flare and the reflection in a pool of something caking on the blacktop.
Again through the evening frigid burls of treesap slowing the lapsing history sound surpassed by another succession hungry for chlorine or maybe salt but diluted so the darkness doesn't hide anymore of those anothers: brain light (matter) wonder whether the rain came while we slept through Jazz Age vagaries sipping and bloating and wheezing and chewing.
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Oh the rush
pogo thru
capillaries
tip-toe
emission
from hair-
line dry
cough
flavor-
less than
tongue
benign but
gravelled
honey cooks
away that
is what he said
because he
sweetens
gumlines
uvulas and
lungs full
certified
by whom
favorite
the white pick-
et salvage
say you
stationed
feline nautilus
in center in
corner
sallow in winch
of hammock
respiring
window to floor-
board below
drape before
peaks and
trenchant
crates who
graple hushed
afterword
steamed cup
logos climes
differential
vibrant en-
mire pallid
lung cloister-
ed and new
harbinger lotus
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It came abruptly, reason couldn't be accomplished because everything happened faster than winter. The slowness of summer forgot to assist; years turned into hours, the leaves never changed or fell.
I sit now feeling their brains for food, filled with awe and wonder, and if I'll ever get a chance to meet them. The end is probably the end, though, so hope seems lost. The wires and skylines linger like sandstone, ebbing slightly but sinking like quicksand, leaving out the unnecessary consumptions.
Life is like that. Somewhere in Europe things seem better because life is taken for what it's worth. Tragedy is possible so open-mindedness works better than orange juice from Florida or Brazil or a freezer pop from Michigan.
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Scattered leaves decorate the dismal fall ground and the monks picking apples from the trees across the way look satisfied. We watch them from the empty after-school parking lot, which collects gravel dust and bottle caps during the back-to-school season. We stand in Mt. Rushmore perspective, glaring across the terra with pained eyes sick from the disinfected hallways and bathrooms of the academic building. Neglect consumes me. I die for a minute, brought back to life by the aspect of myself that is my guiding personality, a type of multiple, breathing humidly into my ear every chance it gets.
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