SPINNING WHEEL
Leaches to burn themselves briefly, oh mix of rain. A writer sadly letting himself have nothing to do does nothing. Nothing gets done. Spiral eye were oh ver-veering shame loss a trapdoor forever shallowed. Triptych nonsense and what has become of you. Sometimes new words get used. Forever lost in part of the helm uplifting the sea across the vain grew to small hath wa portions. And hath wa knew. ¶ Constantly at thrust away from bay where solid states emit a while. Bonding while it’s just a way you offer the blanket a smile like hey have I warmed you? In jit away gleck formed a part of iron clad in paper waves grown apart the ripple enlarges to encompass the way each circle forms and dissipates and then again a harper’s few. To become to-tulle a white away. Way in havvard stray. Por ton a light a man. The regardless endophry glattening the frost humors off in distant sway. Pretense por light ag mendra. ¶ The aggen frenda heavenly setters moving the car with their bare hands. 2-foot-2-foot-2-foot cube lumbers over tip-toppling the way to the ice elves, again, who get mentioned, but get summered, too. Raff-ling serpentine sports for the blimmer spots on the frog-coat Lucinda walking tall through the open alley. ¶ The very end of the road is not a place you want to be but have to go to. ¶ The frog did methamphetamines. Claustrophobic yawn-ditz Eiffel-tower-style breathes. Hamming-bones with a bunch of oxidants. Cruxing the spendthrifts for billions of G dollars. Not quite all alone but somehow something like all alone with the deprivation of silence. Bing-bong-ching-chong-ching going the falling dradle per-clasp aglance a sunglint against qhiter days long. Not to say this or that about the thing but to then eventually to mask the self behind the face. With the face in brusk. Not-light vernal days spinning brisk and bright above the dome of clouds for which there is dreariness all below. Not a question the asker saves but something to be had about the not-so-frequent blunt being smoked. Had and lipped and embered and loved and swelled with the smoke of the bud in the wrap and gar-gutted and licked sealed and flame-creased and rolled. Smoky O my control station going remote on the dark side of the planet’s roll. Around sun ceased a climb of lights we survived on the planet for long enough but could not condense all our most commonly used words and verbiage and syntax and lexical strengths down into a single beautiful sentence for God to hear us pray up something like prayer being reading like all tolled no one understanding the headstrength given up. Gone goopy with the love cross lace livened alive growls imbibing sloth furnaces and chalk streaks. ¶ The surfaces of the leaps lengthened and I a lone traveler along the air there watching beside myself my own ghost giving up stalled as time went on nothing cared. For centuries of long lost qualities to the off-centered wreath on the door of my palace in heaven or hell who knows. My little cottage hovel little home. ¶ Distanced from this place and told not to come back again and old again watching the frozen embrace of another swall en swellinger frell der nithium addum brawl. Watching a dance of words go on. I am brought again into retrospect to the center of the line to see what is going on and all the light in felled heaps stretched again all the light again all the light all I really talk about and all or nothing and all the time and dreams and waking up and being asleep and taking climbs and falling and falls into dreams and all the life. ¶ I like it. I swall. ¶ I rek’d senseless stipped of pride and hauled away. The wrong sense lied about whoever walked away, I know. I wasn’t there all the time; I was never paid. I walked away. ¶ Quail a sensed egg less in May and, stale, tell the story you wanted to. No one will judge you either way, and if they do, well, hey, go fuck yourself—you tell em. So googly-eyed Yay can watch from above as God and judge for real my actions on here. I don’t pretend to know what doing is right and what’s wrong and what’s happening half the time anyway. Yay is gogged, smacked and rayed. Yay is smily-faced-eyed and frowning going “Hey, there. Hey, there” half the time. Whole moose conniptions grommets ply wind and bay fool the locked synth’s sounds out of thick air and pummel ear cannals’ walls hey. Frequently in flight set to auto-recursive ambience and growling glows the hairpin turnabouts mauled hey. Frowning. Don’t frown. Upside-down that shit, hey. Cromming a sequence. Hey. I know now, not but. Hey. ¶ Get your ass over here, said the angel to the listener from the burning side of the house’s wall still lighting up the bowl anyway trying to feel what dying is like. Terrible numbers drifting museless calling-carding the able way not still not moving not qualitative by-the-by pall-anked skurred of glimmers in the night where inspiration like miniature lightning bolts strikes down from the doom clouds. Whole amphitheaters of gray. The sweat on my hands making my hands caked. Veiling clots of mumbled numbing jelly verbiage hey. Not a knot on the head or anything but something like that—some kind of remote pain. Going on frequently in the back of the head where mind’s rumbles sense the world. Squashing off delayed days. Sincerely awesome plumes of rice. Not known to the freaky jays but heard of sometimes in the smoke-filled soothrooms. Forsooth to say. Wile your turning-rounds with glintlight and prick the hand on a spinning wheel like what’shername. Sleep for a long time til love has to come and kiss you on the lips to wake you up from a scary dream. Wonderful and strange. This world, so near danger. Half the time. Anyway. Mind melt.