Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

imagining corpse
hand out, wistful wait
gathering corn (corn is edible, coin is illusion)

I ate a dollar bill once, tore it up into small pieces and put them all on a piece of bread with peanut butter. You're right in a way - it was the bread and peanut butter that stilled the hunger, not the dollar bull - I mean bill.

and as a sync situation,
i eat peanut butter on rice cracker as i read your own peanut butter variations

the important thing remains
edible peanut gift

o gift is a long sync - a situation of growing -
edible peanut gifts ...
important things always remain ...

o the windchimes are ringing it's snowing I'm singin' ...

sometimes at the end of the day
no matter who God is
no matter what shape the world is in
all you can do
is yawn
& go to bed

takes years mostly
to realize what goes on
in a passing moment

Merry Christmas Eve, u!
I made a roasted chicken and mashed potatoes if ya want some.

the exercise of the imagination
is a warrior's way -

fuck Jupiter ...
... & Mars can kiss
a dog's toes ...

i've been told we write poetry
because we are filled
with passion ...

flooded by gunk is more like it -
i'd just as soon suck limestone and
eat raw cactus as stare at the
ten billion poems on the web - damn if i didn't read one tonight where this guy is writing about the boots on his feet - he might go far but i hope he buys himself some new shoes to do it in.
And who gives a shit 'bout Song Dynasty poems? Anyone?

if it ain't touched by texas then the florida fags are takin' over the universe. i heard that one in conversation. Hindu mindu & puck fu too.

even porn is more interesting. That's how bad it is.
exquisite corpse my ass & i ain't in no mood to hear that shit about "at least they tried" ...

fuck.
leave my ratass carcass to the coyotes - i'm outta here >>>>>>>

Hmm, dang-it
Just when I started up on a poetry forum to begin again.
I thought you had a thing for poetrees.
I'll have to find someone else to share poems with, his mine, mine his...I s'pose. Sigh.

Hey Doll, snap out of it! I went lookin' for somethin' to grab me last night poetry wise on the Web and I just read too much bad poetry and didn't find what I needed so I came back here and had myself a bit of a rant 'bout it all and hung it out to dry. It happens. What I said goes but Don' mean nothin' so don't you go unloadin' off the deep blue sea. I needed meat last night and got stale cheese puffs that even the crows wouldn't eat.

you jus' keep on writin' & sayin' and don't pay no attention to us ol' coyotes with bad teeth. Ya hear?

I was just sayin' just to be a brat.
I'd still make ya suffer my poetrees if I started making again anyways.

O! make me suffer, make me suffer! Please!

She was very yellow,
though this may have only been
her long coat.

Then her feet made little muck-puck sounds
in the rainy puddle-chocked streets.

It was things moved in a frown,
boxes and portmanteaus in browns,
some of brass, leather and filthy dust
after the wrong sides of towns.

She made muddle splashes
to get towards it today.
Her splick, splick and sloshy tosh
the middle of pond
and the settle of May.

I couldn't keep her,
her a muck-puddle and wet dream
and I, wanting to go bosom pink,
I, in wanting kiss and embrace.

I said to her, "Not today, Yellow.
Not today and try to slosh when I've some else
within brace, when I'm not only me
dressing pink."

Just you asked for it. neener neener.
This might be about feet.

just a dash of bipedal eroticism there - best kind.