Swagstone Ltd.

Here by way of over-explanation is my idea for a sick new (fake) company called Swagstone™. Basically it's the coolest motherfuckin' joint you ever seen, kid. Swagstone™ is just a bunch of swagged out, big-dicked landscapers the like of which the blessed Earth has never seen, and will hopefully never see again. For a hefty fee that few people can afford, they will come to your house, bring "bitches" with them, drink your alcohol, ash their filthy blunts all over your house, invite their rude and dangerous friends, throw a party, and also haphazardly lay random flat stones (which they steal from various quarries under the cover of darkness) in your yard.

THIS IS AN ADVERTISEMENT: 

Call Swagstone™Today. Why wait, unless you a bitch? Swagstone be basically the most big-balled, hossed out party joint this side of da Mississip', ya heard? We be flossin’ so hard all up in yo grill just settin a playa up, dig? We got primo flagstone, call it swagstone (cuz a playa can’t swag without Swagstone™), and lay it ALL up in your yard, see? And at Swagstone™ yard work ain’t gotta be no chore. We bring hot bitches—to your exact specifications, of course—to help us swag out on a playa. Tiki torches, brews, Cristal—you name it, we bring it. Also stereos and da freshest jams to make a playa wild out, son. Just a crazy party up in your crib while 10 or so strappin’-ass brothers hall in some Swagstone™ and lay a path around your yard, so you can be goose-stepping like a champ from the garden, to the bird bath, to the herb garden, et cetera. Hallowed be thy name—Swagstone™.

(Swagstone™ makes no guarantee as to the quality of it’s flagstone, nor guarantees that its stones are “flagstone,” per se. We reserve da right to use sandstone, feldspar, and assorted sedimentary rocks so you can holla at your geology knowledge and expand your dome, son!) 

she said

i am sprinkled with boys and boys and babys and babys
sleep is a welcome jackrabbit -- grave -- poems -- slate
roofs -- i know where they're from -- i have canoed past
sloughs of impossible sediment -- oh wow life's sentiment
collecting at the bottom -- an accident of semantics -- an
accident of blind fury -- an accident of bodies -- an accent
on the bones of the day -- this morning is wash -- everything

(s)

heretofore unnoticed are bellies upturned looking at each
other like what? this is the clock ticking and i'm trying not
to waste your time here, really Margaret, i believe in your
faith, i believe in your dripping head, i believe in the cart
that you lead about you, i believe in your pennies, i believe
in your stocks, i believe in the bible       you worry so often
about obeying      i worry so often  sometimes  too  we are
just wandering kiosks, anyway, like purely imagined bones
in a hillside so long ago, we can't even keep track of where
we put our heart, and where we hid the bottles of lotion
whose commands we slathered on our skin, nave romance
& all.

i believe in the bible      you worry  so often
about obeying
                         , she said

FIRE WHERE

this is your   fire where?

this is your fire wheel
this is your father deer
this if your fire's here

<>
there is no heart
where the heart is

FIRE WHERE

fire where there is a hereness
shutters & shutters & layers & layers
and dawn, piqued and drawn,

   (a cocaine model on burlap couch
    a brown women picking buttercups)

lies clutching at her Neptune curves
her sleek body, tits aching w/ pure juice
the cane of lust & it's imaginary counterparts


FIRE WHERE
fire where the heart is