Intuition Cuts to the Core of the Marrow

rains almost everyday
second of the moment after
birth canal

nouns pop from
lumped coal
sounds explode train whistle
dizzy in casement

stand a lone laser
beam circles round
fish hole

holy cathedral in the brain
swimming stains of thought with mirrors
for hands and a boat made of
shoe boxes approaches

water sunset

picks and lifts the door off
hinges try escaping
but waves hold legs

bottom to stone zero

ground meat swaths of distance
fade grey grace round the bend
in the diet

borders against patrol

pages turn
wages of welfare return

than normal

mountains escape beside the creaking gate
who knew

what stands outside
lamp post host to moths
battles of wings

suggest horoscopes may actually contain, I

see the ring on a finger of a man who
travels on an airplane
thinking of me

father time knocks psychological crimes out
of their earth hole

if memory could recuperate would it protest

shades of an age crawl over the eyelids of
screen watching
scrolls fall down the click of a button’s mouth

jaws playing tonight
while people swim

intuition cuts to the core
of the marrow

bones would like to enhance
their species but science has helped
us redirect what can’t modify
must remain governmental

weather control

change channel
clothes or
face paint

body of the body of the one
entered and living in
houses of the
thing that is in the house of the thing that is a house
human being

knocks on the door of the cranium
socks in a drawer of seeking lumps of
muffins man-handled tomorrow’s coughing

offering orders tainted with tangible evidence
munches of grumpy leaking wooden clocks
brain of the hornet on a lost and lonely sign

sway in wind-chalk
calls of investigation

helicopters leave
little trace

fading away


on earth the purpose was mistaken
words in usage was unbroken
ton of working utility the sponges
run their murders under a talking sink

lifting little weight
on the shoulder
but to the contrary newspaper

in redress horizontal scripture
in the distance smolder

movie screen
dragon of a lore

leads each watcher to discuss
Grease Grease Grease

feeds’ pigeon trail to the
rest of what
can’t quite admit might
dynamite a line to
cement of an under-app tunnel
not yet
exploded through

mountain stand tall
cardboard mannequin whispers
when over hearing hovering clouds
disembarking information on how
probable these semicolon
evaporation technical difficulties

when beneath pillars
of sweating stress reasons
grey old folks home
bed ridden
en-close a tongue full of regrets
swamps in their eyes
nests of birds in their ears
form their nostril hairs to
tie a dance
if this is dad

wouldn’t this contradict the church
wouldn’t this imply

we all burn in hell
even if

even if


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