I got a filling

tonight's not gonna be good
searching for cavities
in my cavities, my skivvies
starboard skiff
spaceman spliff

"Pliff" said the onomotapoeia
"pliff, ploff"
feeble sheep, sheepish people
keebler elves ship steeples
subtly sipping beetles

Juice of the sun
ruby red greatfruit
tropical americana

Elegant as Chinatown Garbage, maybe

1.
I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave

already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
to say, "Coming home soon!"

or a man named Nickel phoning to
get his liquor license renewed
at half past midnight
in the East teens.

2.
A.
The chaos ferry
churns on empty
she has already stuggled enough
she has already
done what matters.

B.
Welcome, they say,
to the place that matters.
You have found the spoon
inside of the baby.
Found the runt
in halls of prized gerbils.
You have already... have already...
done so many things. Have concocted
potions to tantalize the masses.

Has discovered circular pathways
in abundance
that wind downward with elegant
and symbiotic ease.
What I mean is: you've arrived.

2nd Blog In The City (Crumb)

Preamble

I have already discovered
the meltwater at edge of cave
(. . .)

1st Constitution Ave.

I have already entered
the cave I am to call home
like lost money ringing her bank
saying: Herro, I emm home! Beijing
means Northern Capitol. Jing.
Not Zhing.

& Deer ([Ampersand, misunderstood])

-- it seems overwhelming to me,
MY HAVING NO
conceptualization of schema

 -- Ultimately we need to gather
our friends and settle in a glen
near our families
a shady grove
not sketchy but well-wooded
or were it sketched, well-wrought

well-wooded, populated by extremophiles who
hide, who inhabit inscrutable depths
of wood, stone and earth;

 -- with woodpeckers friendly a-thump, snakes not vicious
but yes, dangerous (we are men, after all);
wild, out-there, your kids need to know;
& deer, the great misunderstood deer, Kissinger's
useless eaters, but not useless, even if animals
could be. (Set aside
humanity, for now). Right here in the U.S.A,
God's own city,
these deer are our own natives,
Polacks of the Great American Ruminants,
drinking firewater of polluted landscapes,
but still alive. Eating tree & bush
& grass beneath the frost. [Bison with huge necks
massively heave snow aside. Who said snow
was just white and pretty; We reside.]

(Nothing more natural than electricity,
fatigue, the quest
to not be extinguished. In some ways,
we are that fragile.)

 -- The
snakes not man, you know, men unserpentine:
surreptitious but uncoiled. blasphemy without heat.
salamanders and saddled feet.
our children must know,
forest.

 -- &
tribesmen stone creeks in the evening, gathering
piles along the banks, relieving. reliving ghost
fires, the weird swift waters. something like time
gathering, fathering. uncomfortableness sure as
mother's milk, even now developing. our greatest
mistake: not knowing how this debacle nourishes
us, forces necessity upon us like a dagger and
a dangerous but absolute mission. Failure never
was an option. That's not just an idiom, but a 
truth. It's just something that happens.
We do not try
not to love, nor
would we claim to

(intentionally)

adorn hearths with rubbish or something
unwholesome   after all   love
 is more the trumpets
than the harp; more than trumpets
and less than harp-song. Lesser and more ordinary,
simpler, but less crafty. It is here &
there; it is right here. 

 -- (intentionally)

Right beneath your wings. Call it poetic
but true-- ... ... and now, becomes 
(is) the truth redacted. Nothing less perfect,
I say, then pigeons taking wing
and defecating without awareness.
These kind of accidents
are not accidents. Ashberry was right:
these accents seem their own defense.

Aboriginal Sin

This is the first original thought I've had in years
A wholly National House of Pancakes
no syrupy foreigners allowed

I'm as French as french toast
but I know my people
and come Bastille Day,
they'll huff and they'll puff
and they'll blow NHOP down.

Pancakes are flimsy
much like my business plan
potentially a chocolate chippy enterprise
but ultimately, a big mess.

Enterprisin' ain't easy.
Mo' butter mo' problems.

If this doesn't work, I'll donate my brain to charity

"Je suis Chinois"

I told her, to prove that I could speak French.
"Je m'appelle Tal et je suis Chinois"
"Oh vraiment?" she replied, frenchly, "c'est magnifique!"
"Yeah, that was a joke," I blandly conceded, "I figured you could tell I'm not Chinese."
"Ce n'est pas sympathique." She was crying.

French people are idiots, arrogant cockatoos.
All for none and none for all.
Strippers and benzene users. Chlorophyll.
Why does she want me to be Asian?

I pressed on: "Je veux un croque-monsieur, s'il vous plait"
"What, just because I am from France you think I will cook you up a fucking croque-monsieur? Get real, Chinaman." She was angry.
You could fry an egg on her forehead, and I wanted to.
It had been hours since I last ate.

Cereal is for morning people.
Eggs, however, are for men of Jesus.
Disjointed conversations are for losers

Noble savage on boardwalk

The place I choose to slumber
is a bed of weathered boards
who awaits like heaven
my sleeping form tonight.

There aren't shadows (Riverside picnic)

There aren't shadows, oh, SNOWMASTER...
would that I could... ...FITZGIBBON ( - - - - )
a snatch a pearl a hand a grab agent
Oreano, Carlotto, there are [ you? ]
(how can I say this? you're pregnant)
oregano
i have nutmeg
i have nutmint
we will understand someday
the ways of our ancestors
in time for us to burn


there are hands
big white black brown white hands
big black white huge smallstrong
the same hands
hands of tomorrow, hands of
some distant future. hands of
the ruminant; hands of the
small, belabored, the small, the chapped,
the skin overcoming the wilt; the ham
being simmered in the kitchen. We are
all just lovers here. This is our stream.

Alert the admin (Fuck you, webmaster)

Gosh if you're
listening I hope it's
morning. My terms
are always better felt
in the succulent
a.m. At Purdue News
Service, they make babies
like news stories:
the old-fashioned way,
they snake and fuck and
crook, snakes in the grass,
woodlands in piles,
I have no business saying anything.

Yeah, baby: Designed.

I have been desired
desired in a theatre.

I have been designed,
designed in a Plexiglas
mold you snagged from that
aeronautical engineering
student you slept with.

Yeah, baby: Designed.
I've slept with less necklaces,
believe me honey.
I've slept with the less-than-freckleless.
I've tangled with barbers and felons
and all kinds of strange men.
Most importantly, I know a unicorn
when I see one.

Onward, friends. A warm bright tomorrow
beckons and everything
is bound to be just
excellent.

Bound.

Love in France (oooh! fantastique!! ahhhhh!!!! merde) [a morality play]

There is no love in France
There is no love in the Highlands
There is no love in the Lowlands
There is no love in Canberra
There is no love in Tibet
There is a prophet named Yeshua,
There is no love anymore.

Every bed you've ever / Bonfire

Every bed you have ever seen
from the eyes of the back of the door to the beginning of the sheen
on her lips the quips the quickness to her kiss the quickness shaped like this
the quickness of every hip
the tender heart attack of eternal bliss
earth like shattered furniture
on the lawn, the enemy's lawn
and the bible is on the furniture
and the bible is on the furniture

glowing like rainbow lightning HUNG
a pedestal a pinch of mesacline a hunting tin

a box of chocolates a box of shockpits
humming like lecticorn bumblebees
made up cool running ram
bumble bumble where?
bumble bumble doo,
how are yooooouuuuuuuu?
Dirty Danny, Where are
yoooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuu?

Bigfin reef squid

(Sepioteuthis lessoniana)

New to Mahler

It is written. Thus noted, so told.
Believe in the less ordinary
is probably good advice.
But what do I know? I'm just a novice,
listening to Mahler for the first time.
Was a Jew, than a Fish. Opposite of me.

I swear to God I'm going to play a trumpet
louder than any man ever has.

Just as I know a man more Pegasus than me
shall one day inherit the wondrous paths to truth.
So it is written, / So I am told.

Make no mistake then, that I will burn down the gates
strip the ivy puppets to their limbs and rend asunder
all vertical, horizontal, cylindrical elements that hereby hold
me from getting to the other side

(I won't say... the promised land...)
this: the land of our fathers.

So They inherit the path. I take the plans: burned.
I make the path. I find the roots. I sow the seed.
I plow the land. It is the land of my fathers. Grandfathers.
Great grandfathers. & so forth.

Thislandismyland
thislandisyourland

said the great fountain
the lips of the teachers ordinary
praised by position extraordinary
what I mean is they were adults
and we were children.
Even the 8th graders seemed full-grown.

We aren't cephalopods, e.g.

I think it’s easy to believe
that mice kill men; it’s easier,
still, to find the converse true.

True like the wintermints, your
girlfriend, or the sly octopus,
judging the southern African lineup
(here from the the whole world coming)
to choose eight straight winners.
Incredible, really.
And to whose grave establishment,
has the party created,
a vague sense of irony,
or a corpuscle of raw iron turnip
coasting out like the murky pump of
buttresses, lunches.
That’s right world, cephalopoda
have heads too. Hearts, also, and
tentacles from here to Tuesday to tomorrow
to Monday. Again—the day of the sun.

If I had to believe in some type of man
to set the bar for others, it would be a lectitorn
a goldfinch in a Petrarchan sonnet, the kind
that fill your eyes with tears. Or used to,
at least: we haven’t all been to Bunker Hill,
but I have. I’d seen the casino there, tasted
the Indians yams and medium-cooked stripsteak.
It was all much better than Squanto could have
imagined: which is a heartless, spineless way of
admitting the unfathomable horror of the old way
of life, upon knowing ours; of the old guard hearing
our new petulant girls, pornstars faking orgiastic
sentiment, just gross poor women sluts like slots like
poker tables dirty, depressed, naked with skulls with
iron pots with dirty hayseed mannequins with liquor
cigarette potty stains,
dirty red pretty lipstick fucking until they’re sick, five minutes
at a time, time for 5, time for lunch, time for the threesome,
time for the breathmint, time for the aftershave, time for
the shower, time to eat breakfast, time to commute home,
time to review the mortgage, time to gauge the amount of
resin in the tires, resin in the pipe the only flute to tomorrow,
the only tulip for the brain the only way to stay same the only
curse fucking curse like a furnace like a cat like a kitten like a cat
revisited: a fucked up cat a golf course a wizard a dead wizard a
new man a new plan a canal Panama

a desert a whelp a kid a soccer tourney
a mother driving a mother
wiving a mother bringing her son a sandwich
when there’s already fruit rollups
it’s the dusty then the clean
the cloudy then the sheen I mean the clear
the dirty the milky the rainy the feared
men, the clasping dirty re-trained brains
the minds of many, the clans, the kooks,
the verily verb missing the man with his lantern
keeps returning being so meta being too thin
getting into drugs getting into Vogue getting into
the club getting into kids things getting pregnant getting fucked
getting new shoes getting chewed out getting cheated on getting
killed getting new getting knowledge getting dome getting head
getting gravy at the gravy store (who has heard of this?
who has heard of that? who has planted this?)

another parenthetical needed—nobody plants anything, anymore!
the real sweet moments overlooked
or turned into something “sweetheart” or “downhome” or “authentic”
the real parts turned out the real parts turned in the man in the mannequin
posing as a mannequin
the man named Quinn
the Black Man loving to rhyme again
just listen to rap and hear me grin
hear me run hear me bunch hear me yipes hear me yanks year me yet
hear me left

Hall & Song

1. Hall

There is a hall of mysteries
in the brain
more changed than main
more grain than grain
more blood / more guns / more fame.

In the blood is the sugar gone
from the flesh apparatus to the stone.

The herenow wish of tomorrow
is to never feel the same.
Look at my fetish puppets!
Look at their halls of whey!


2. (To Be Sung)

Empty the river kitchen
her halls made full of foam! (Oh!)

Empty the river kitchen
everywhere I roam. (Ho!)

Somebody Delete This (3)

1.
halfdraked corner of my life
the i's always wanting

frience blue blood inheritance
waiting on the wings

a side of beef,
a porridge for example,
that slut Virginia's gonna git stuffed.

I'm sorry to break this to you, mister, but
your daughter Kaley, the Bulldog--
she's already become an ingratiating slut;
her pussy will be well regarded in the halls
at Bowling Green. In fact I've heard

she enjoys interacting with a guy
and a girl at the same time. Says
it "gets her fucking clit off so hard,"
in other words.

2.
popular mechanics
popular antics
popular dryboard
popular screed
popular meta-animation stint
popular feet cruise

Go-Parts

<>
Go-Parts Dairy-Creme Convertibles.
I suck, at the small nibbly nub on the coin
of my opinion.

<> [THIS BULLET HAS NO TITLE]
You can be wrong when you're high. When you're blessed as such, it seems impossible. Lo -- It is not. Your comrades might set you at ease with their cannabis-as-lambent smiles, but they do not point out that you are wrong. Mistakes happen, after all.

<>
"Excuse Me, Mister Main."
"Yes."
It would appear that you have been posting on a site called "Absurdists Inc." Is that right?
Yes.
[Pause.] Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?
Yes.
[Long pause as sheriff-type slowly realizes you aren't talking.] You don't say. You know, a man of your age and complexion ought to be assshamed of hisself for writing that gollllddamn slander on that thurr website.

<> BRASS!!!
Today I put all of my money into brass. Simultaneously launching "Brass is f-cking awesome" ad-campaign.

Somebody Delete This (2)

Somebody delete this,
that is, whoever has a heart.

If you cannot read this then turn it
upside down and believe in it. This is the special
day of forest luncheons and speakeasy
hideaways. I have to tell you -- I think you are
amazing; you're almost special; you always
have been--

I squeeze together my ass at the thought of
you'm him we'm them she'm

whoom
whoom
w-hoom
who-om
men
men
danger

men
men in danger
men

men
menin
Lenin
menin
meninges
meninges
meal
meningitis

home-flog
home-flot

repetition
repetition
college
repetition
repetition
college

Somebody Delete This (1)

Every movie has a prison. Just like
every slough has a heart. In its weedy
rye innards are the calves whom slough
off their toil; they are frozen; we are here;
I am talking about a winter's marsh.

Oh look, potheads absconding with ideas
hiding them in trainplanes
cars with galactic signatures
sometimes i don't know if i'm funny or just
really funny. Erotic sinecures
aren't erotic anymore, and the word
is overused. The refreshing thing about being
off: you are going to blink on at some point
(first I said "turn" but opted out).

Eat nutmeg in small amounts, as with
turnip & parsley.

ROMBUS

"ARIGHT" -- DEFINITION -- BULLETIN
MALE PARTS
SMILES

    4. Right, on the square: cf. A-WRY. Obs.

1571 DIGGES Pantom. I. Biijb, If all the sides be equall, and no angle aright, then is it called Rombus.

 

Rombus, I tell you. 

Rombus and the busline kids. 

Green sparrow and the green adventure. 

Mellow side of 

the opium pipe 

(in a) Peshawar province. 

CNN kills every day.

Pasta?

Everybody hates my music. But who could blame me? I just ate pasta, with a heaping of bright mushrooms and zucchinis in a darkrick tomato sauce. My Nana used to grow tomatoes back in Italy. Vine-ripened. One of my neighbors always went on & on about the merits of the vine-ripened variety. "None of that store ripened crap," he'd say. This was a guy who liked to visit volcanoes around the world. A vulcanologist.

I just played basketball. Ended up 2-3. Pretty frat. Once I start saying something meaningful, it's already erased. Motley daily strikes are like rum; but they don't taste good. I swear if I ever pitch in the majors I'm only going to throw balls.

Most day are like this. Morning with the mothballs. Screwy fountains of powdery fungus balls and snakebites.

Blasted newt scorched wings; I saw two beetles die today.

Go-Bear.

1.
I want
to go there.
Go where?
Go-bear.

2.
hey, stencil.
how are we?
doing, in God
we trust.

3.
maroon

Thereby the Zeta bandloom

Bedbars and a whole tub full of Kentucky swill. I want this to hurt so much you'll never want to read again, Missy. She looked at me like I was crazy, like I had come from Paducah with a gun in my shirt and a camera up my sleeve. Listen here, I ain't no jack-rabbit! I'm a trooper

and with those words left the hotel, took a cab to the aerospace museum. I was feeling a little woozy from one too many smokeless cigarettes.

joined the bandwagon, then. all the circuitous paths had erupted like flames or men and the fix was in. they stole the gold and hid it in the pyramids.

that's what happens anyway when the mind wanders
you say you want a sandwich? well, how's about a
leaflet about a sonnet about a television show
about somebody's diamond problem
showering like leafy lopsided dublooms
cowering in a corner of melonhusk misery
the intentional cow eyes
like silence ignored.

(Just another sandwich movie.)

jungle meds

guard the medicine
goes the jungle dream
gates ours to climb

guard the jungle medicine
goes the mothwing song

keepsafe her vinous sleep,
oh medicine man,
goes a third, topless.

none of this was written down.

hardly worth posting

I believe in whole cloth legacy
a rhyme | a dish | a seder

So Winnetka now, private beach
sand sprung lovers or heroes or bodies
a complete fest of divers retraining instinct
instead fusing it with old downhome responsehood
false funeral of something flat, something legendary

there didn't used to be school-shootings
except pick-em-up hot swift kick the library Danny

he's out to lunch

The Makeshift Machines

Maybe I can make this myself.

Nice torch, man. You light

the guy and lantern spray

the most sandstone parts

of our lives, which is to say

we are becoming, & shale

& shake and the first heard/\

Tigers have alumni; originally,

seeds were mammals. Of course

camel fur, camphor frenetic

sheikhs laugh like treats. Hey,

come to my cave. It's cool, don't

worry about it, I have a permit,

my crab's named Hermit, we'll

relax a bit, join me, I'll jangle it.

figurative cloudass

I've never looked at clouds;
they only rainlight me.

Never played the cray-pa, though
I have been rained on.

Why all this talk of slurry?
No. Get warmer, friend.

What reason for our discourse?
"Languid cracked games
spell out our disaster
in the trumpet cabinet,"
is something I would say.

"What part?"

"All of it.
All of it."

But this is just the start.
Then there are chirrupings
I know that's not a word
I DON'T CARE

chirruppings red, green &
yellow shale, every color
of the pickering dickering dock,
the glory-man craveboy in the
cement stacks of the fucking moon,
the moon, boy. The goddam moonman.

we are no less ordinary

it seems that never does the world issue word
like a forest full of cats mid-rebellion
the felines taking revenge on the antihistamine
contingent. ((I am the full great scorpion of old!))

-constant-hordes-and-clouds-of-white-aggression
[meaning whitehot] slag like luncheons visit upon us

) not an occasion
) without somebody’s mention
) forest to the fire
) toes for a burglar

one time I had sex on the kitchen floor of some family in Loveland, Ohio. My girlfriend was house-sitting for them. As I recall I still wasn’t very experienced sexually so it wasn’t as glorious as it could have been.

steamy white rows of
rice (it was rice, it was rice)
like white fluffy life
grain; in silence; some recognition
lighting up the goddam people and taking them
down to the ground to the hermit to the hound
the white-hot red-hot green&sunbeam maniac
wherein we wail at each other like lecticorns
true lambents of the unctuous funeral
hopped up on coals of white-hot peppermint Bluth
canes and wiles and wilds and broken spermicidal
infants in a black soup of majestic mystery
misery

it’s raining please;
we are no less ordinary

nude words

every nude word you ever said
were a drag-done-lady selling veggies
or riding
somebody's spaniel
down the road toward the brick bunting
pigeons retrieving treats amongst the trees
hills, witches, wrens, cat-treats
all these things and more
are dripping like anemones into the sea
you cannot imagine what this really means
to smote the small guy while wading
balls-out in the smooth tan reminder
of a legacy, of a legalization protocol
look onto doom as a sign of doom
or murder as a sign of some murder
like FEMA made into a disaster and ruined
the frail crab bayed-out orchestra of intense fever
consorting our worst intentions at every turn of the wheel
and somebody's cinnamon stick is sticking into their ass
loose, luridly, hooking around a pomegranate piece of pussy
like a meal tattoo gone wild.

"Secretly obsessed with fish..."

she whispered,
like a great white buffalo.
Mark Ruffalo.
Divine is all the time

Raw fishermen
rayfish in their craws
dollards of sand
ocean blue craypas
plantains on the plains

phantom flames
acid-induced trips are lame.
I never claimed to have gone anywhere
though I may have walked at times
I didn't go all that far.

I saw things, but who doesn't?
People blind to what's around them
don't know a red pepper from a green one
or think cabbage and lettuce are the same.
I would recommend not looking at clouds.

This is why I have a lawyer on retainder!!! (LOL)

After playing bongos until I collapsed nude onto my free-trade organic bamboo flooring, and slowly crawling to my computer to check my email, I got an angry epistle from my lawyer Ron regarding a recent Absurdists' post. He ordered me to write this on the blog or face stiff penalties (Absurdists' board of regents is getting very irritated with the lack of production and certainly he knows I don't want to upset them anymore. Normally I'd tell the ginkgo-pooping toolbag to calm down with a nice warm tea of white willow bark and ballsack... but now I've got to play nice). Here goes:

TO: MY BLOGREADING PUBLIC
REGARDING: MY LAST POST
WHEREIN MY WORDS WANT CLARIFICATION
REGARDING SUGGESTIONS OF NEFARIOUS
ACTIVITIES BY TED HAMPTON, Jr., OF
CHAMPAIGN COUNTY, ILLINOIS, SPECIFICALLY
SEEMING TO SUGGEST THAT TED
HAMPTON, Jr., MURDERED BILLY-RAY,
or ANY PERSON, FOR THAT MATTER.

Dear Reader,
How are you? Hope things are excellent. Say, let's cut the crap, okay? I'd like to firmly disavow any suggestion that there is any barber by the name of Ted Hampton. Really, there isn't any man in the world, let alone in Champaign County, named Ted Hampton, Jr., who makes a living cutting hair and hawking grooming products (subtly, on the side). And even if there were, this no-doubt upstanding, patriotic man would never have killed Billy-Ray, or killed anybody, for that matter. 

Why I never cared for Ad Libs

FILL IN THE BLANK

You met your

(a) wife
(b) bank teller
(c) poker partner
(d) dad

after a nice stroll and a lunch of

(a) burgers

from the local firemen union's summer picnic.
Met Paul, married with two kids, and Somerset,
who seemed like kind of an asshole. After that we
jetted and bought some jewelry from a few pirates
on the streetside. We later realize they were just
kids dressed up and that the jewelry was really
old receipts.

Next we met up with our friends Ned and Eileen at
Paramount Filters (where they only serve the finest
filter-feeders!). Turns out Billy-Ray had been murdered.

How did it happen, you ask? It was most certainly
1. The Barber

(a) in the steam room
with the jelly fish

(b) in the bone home
with the pepper-fish

(c) on top the dromedary
meaning it's a camel with one hump

or

(d) Ted Hampton.

You decide.

for better or worse (crayfish version)

I don't get you
she said, livid
with a crayon in her grasp
and an army of mercurial guttersnipes
slashing like land-coves at the bay.

how has it been, imaginary?
i complained, aloud, to the gruff man
eyeing me like starburst by the bay.

listen, crawdaddies, i said,
these aren't your parts. we have
claimed them.

back then

porch by the wetslide grasses,
she purrs, a nude princess
in need of linens or, at least,
some grasses or rush with which
to fashion some clothing.
this came to me in a dream
the night after a barber stole my wife
years later
when i finally realized
we were just kids
back then.

detailed notes on psychic interaction between two consenting adults at the civic center

Is this good or bad? I have a newsie
hovering around the building asking me stupid questions like
do i want to live? would i rather stay in the boardroom? how many people have never pooped? is this possible? where are my shoes?

I don't, I answer. And, yes, probably, how dare you ask that question, no, on your feet.

From Jungle to Businesswoman Shakedown

On the peninsula is where I got the degree. In the vegetative, dank, smelly jungle is where I was born. I come from deep dark earth like shit and I make it to the mainland and I take a job at a smelly laundry store and I work work work the peninsular, mainland way of life. This how I live, okay. So you come here to discuss some business. What can I do to you that you cannot do to me? Easy, give me a blowjob. No, seriously. Right now. Do it.

Insane Tommy

be-wed were the eyes of Mary Todd
be-wed were her pearly gates
be-wed on Wednesday and tell Tommy kimbo;
tell Tommy his Mommy is tall. 

Oh, tell Tommy his Mommy is tall.
Tell Mommy his Tommy is tall.
Tell Mommy on Tommy;
Tell Tommy on Mommy;
Embroider his name in your quilt.

Quotes on the Bloody Danube

"There is a vision greater than my own
(an eye in no way limited like mine)
which puts me in my place."
--Augustus Finch IV, Esq.

"Sparrows have attacked.
Bring the reinforcements."
--Crow

"Specimens. I need Specimens, dammit!
Gregg--get back here with those specimens,
you little fairy! Specimens, Jim, get him!
Get the specimen fairy boy!"
--Steven Crabe

Garlic notes

1. In the cavern of the blog,
things looked untidy.

2. I've skewered shrimp
with less peppers than that, Jesus.

3. The brooding "big cat" biologist thought
How many leopard prints
have my jubilant masters unearthed?

4. Sometimes my dad gets mad at me
for writing bizarre rusticons like this
here -- just look at me, making up
a word again -- Rusty cones, dogs,
wherein the witching is welled
cold hard dark un

5.
man
holding
a lantern
   (already won)
Withholding a
pattern (since begun)!

6.
The piece emerges:
Am I Alive?