fig. 2

things that i can imagine on the table right now:
junk mail.
a spoon.
the orange juice.
shadows.
turquoise lead based paint.

Although a new pony might exist there as well, it is so close that you can't see it.

fig. 1

crummy boon.

duh. fussy ran bot.

pony lump. 

light strike.

frilly prostate.

pump grill krill.

chirpy stuff.

claimer scarf.

crumpled bracelet storm.

early morn tint.

GOOD SIGNS!

The way we have allowed it to grow.

Anyone can tell.

They're on our side.

Particularly our bad side.

Oh, two days, from now? how'd you know?

Dude, blah blah

you think this is a game?! 

   

homeward bondage

haha i feel like im finally home.
like how many roads must my house feel like a knot of muscles protuding from my spine


poem for anthony:
i am a falling leaf that will decompose
into andy warhol dripping sweat plowing
a field of car alarms
between here and pacifico
posturing ...
homo erotic cobra hikes