POETRY SCHOOL – 1990

Like a coloring book; nowadays invented neglect of splattering blobs poison over the lines of the physically needy of social security of the “all by oneself” accomplished worthy appreciators of shapes, norms crumbled to brotherhood of future and present, the most important; I see myself, as well as the half of my great horny. I stand before the mirror resembling another. {P.O.M.P. 1990}

HO FROM GROLLO

Your hair was the best consequence, you terrible toddler. You box of always everything off, as silent as words that you took with you until I saw you again amidst bulbs, loaves; cruelly fooled: a tenderest lightning with a tight pan of which we chatted about chords around the lead role in a fluttering flag from which did we unravel the nest, accidentally whistling lids of pure happiness, deep in contact of the filthy norm of a rotating frothingly stuck together, I have the urge. I sing. Ha, I sing freely songs, full and round from the chest, where a non-entity echoes to me “”She’ll never taste the sausage again.”” {P.O.M.P. 1990}

AS HORNY AS KING SOLOMON

Satisfied monster in a trance of intimate love, from time to time, to roughness of the cat that clears her debts at my leg— gotten rid of at what one can call: refined parts, parts of everything and more; animals. Bye dearest with whom I want to play in beds, in temples, in tolerance, free from the discomfort of the filthy norm of a rotating frothingly stuck together, I have the urge. I sing. Ha, I sing freely songs, full and round from the chest, where a non-entity echoes to me “”She’ll never taste the sausage again.”” {P.O.M.P. 1990}

DAY HUMAN

Self-created kicked in a bowl of porridge, from Venetian blinds resonating into water echoing to BOOGIE DOWN PRODUCTIONS in a dirty mirror, separating, fifteen in. Precisely one hour to irregular hours inside, outside to fortified castles where work and coffee without MASK. ME unwittingly obligated again in everything that wants to sleep, to eat get and get laid with her from where, only five minutes, plazas holes meeting in frighteningly guilty I FEEL NOTHING to MISS. {P.O.M.P. 1990}

CAFE THE URBAN MUSEUM

Absurdist, impressionistic. Suspicious for careful others, entertained by the mopping sponges excessively flavored sprinkled discussed. Stitched in the ear of tasters, vomiters, roughly smothered in a misty canal house )squatted( until my farmer-letting-muse awakens in the bottoms of beer. Murdered by glasses she )one broken pane( walks through grass green cityscape, the yellow number. Within one minute abducted to darker realms so clear, so naked; like the future, like then when on my head was pounded by ‘Imagining’ ”Sir,” he spoke. ”It’s war with preaching.” {P.O.M.P. 1990}

SIN

She’s almost as beautiful as her as her hair or her rivals determine my two more downheartedness of gladly felt sexuality with more than her and just sweetened wetness. {P.O.M.P. 1990}

POETIC-ENDING

Sabretooth-tiger-like panting butterflies vomit well-balanced the herring with whipped cream and Brussels sprouts. One morning gurgling turtle-shell lips lazily indulge lust and lechery in distress-fucked no man’s land the dreams. By third parties; by fourths he’s picked up and thrown down in his own pool of blood. {P.O.M.P. 1990}

TIME-LOCKED META-VISIONAL

Although natural; the life of chaotically lined right-leftness within mazes, loose, without entrance, whether guided it guided the calves and offspring, through dry, through wet, sometimes crumbling lies. Imposed by: beings of their backgrounds creating dissolving foregrounds that believers, remembers plod up-down between sewerage of wisdom’s will to the road, oh middle road and Christmas thoughts on a flaming ship. Where caricatures change noses of t.v. )physical law( about vomiting in public, already damn, etc. knees fell. Then it will wish to play God; and sometimes to want to be. Know-it-all snot-noses: seeking heroes upstream from inside-out the largest wave of inundated drunken hypotheses. Suddenly then, inverse, suddenly, the greatest wish. Hence, it will never happen. From where? Hence; and it’s human. {P.O.M.P. 1990}