mo bettah junk 2 read

Varnish me, that I may remain constant in my appearance of steadfastness
Tack me to the floor that I seem not move from a position of righteousness

Standing there in stunned silence, where up to the bar they were bellied
Where night and day alike by inhumanly corny music they were ukeleled

As daylight cracks itself like eggs over the dark, making omelets for angels
For you all I have enumerated the vicissitudes of the Snouts Mongrels

Universal, endless experience:
Faded from life,
Fear of the unseen
And looking away
Astride Life’s Perceptual Continuum
A golden threads, not emptiness(es)
Is seen (and perhaps known
As extensions, not exits
For ever deprived of never
following
on

winged messenger,

Whom midst many roaming soldiers out-cried sharp pains loudliest
Mumbly prayers, Lunch pails gleaming in the sun, their foes they fought best

(Jim-Jim, please hit the squawling fools with your hat!)

The cameraman came rolling past on a dumpster, trailing upon no undone argument
And here opposite, The Woman came, under a blazing hot sun like an ornament

This line trails off sleepily – I’m tired, dammit!

‘What terrible paintings wrought the poseur therein?’ they lamented
Visibly by their turbid faces these deeds were registering and cemented

Mincing vagabond women then themselves in glamorous procession arrayed proudly
In the midst of this failure, their wild watchers were all percolative: ungodly

CON – FU – SI – ON. Try it out!

The long shadows grew tiny while the bulbs of light went tiresomely bright
Men in pokering the odds of acceleration up to mama, wasted there the night

What a phantom from out of the crazed monotony was slithering to greet cherubs
His limpid aura dim in the dithering, clandestine, reticulating suburbs

We wanted to conk him, we wanted to walk through the woods westernly
As loudmouth concerts of grime, broke upon the dim horizons of lack-a-daisy
O, my great jabbling gibbets, could we ever hear the jolly music there playly?

Someone something said, seriously! Something like:

“ Chanting angelic, transcendent hermetic vestibular watchmen
While into the Fellowship Hall she came, radiant in sin,
The ushers wailing “Time for the Offertory!” pushed her back in
“What psalms have we wrought O Congregational Women?”
Nude on the altar their annointed glistening selves shone proudly
In the midst of the rapture, the wild mystery monk knelt
Even the seven sisters of mercy uttered their Visions loudly
Levitating by their order in humble indifference to reality felt
Their sermons eroding the minds in prayer stalls of the rowdy ”

Mo’ tiny shadows grew long while the light bulb bright light tirelessly lit Alabama
Poking the odd men of acceleration waiting there to spend the night with yo’ Mama

Ah, gibberish in the electric trash arose, flaming like pink eponymous wading birds
The bird is the word you have heard? Bird, bird, bird – what kind of bird?