12:08:07

12:08:07- I cut across the clear impassive clearing, all snow flakes and soddering irons, the residue of Eagles Nests, blue and white scarves, and let downs jotted out clearly for me across the bi-lingual lingo of the ochre hazard lights on the field. Driving around like a noose of soot and sorrow, track-marks and cribbage in the vacant states of subway station unconscience pick-pockets. Tick-tocketing my alarm clock stop watch, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. How loley, irreverant oak satires agape on Anthrax Island ice capades.......sarcasm, an attempt at constructing a jocular personality. Rich in Wakeman and horseshoe gallery shootings. To deem impassive is to oblige the domain, and I don't.

I am asexual. Nothing inspiring or raw, fresh, and flint except for the occasional Krist-like state, an influx of darkroom stares and concave hallucinations. Words like disco, post-script, climax, and fertile used to mien something, now folding up silence between the molars and canine upper lip twist down to the tongue flesh tango cherrypit in the bottom of my butterfly filled stomach and a headful of blues, is fleeting not freeing. Bordeom vs. execution. Or am I Caesar returning to Rome. the Ivory Coast for me. Could a mosaic maker be the host of inspiration the blooming perennials require. Sulking in exile, a couch cushioned fall for the never-ending-story, all along Division Day, supine, decumbent, and soporificm all sprawled out on croquet and obediance, wrestling with the dusk against the storm.