debt squads coming

i pretend a lot of things about myself

yesterday i was imagining myself confessing to all of you~ that all of these words came from the vast Craig's list free pile

if i were really unemployed and really a filthy bum, i'd sit at the library computer and look at all the freebies~ and the food

ice cream beverages ~just the sound of such a concoction brings tears to my face and stains to my shirt

we should let our children run barefoot, we should give our shoes to dogs

there's a subterranean world covered with mossy lichen right below us~ with denizens ?

where artists throw all their work in to the trash ~ where it all belongs~

the things of the world just fall apart spontaneous

we could push buttons together / and push each others buttons together

long board handplane~ one side is a nose rider for my mom

the other side is a hull for some ambidextrous handplane action~ recycled crates

i've been retraining myself~ on how to eat again, with small bites and savoring each tiny taste

learning to listen to food ~ what did the tomato say to the banana ?

the marvelous colors, of which art can never duplicate

such splendid juxtaposed contrast~ the produce workers are truly gifted artists

i wanted to lay with fruit~ to be all mouth~

i pretend to be a tourist~

to be emblazoned upon enormous beach fires~ of drift wood and carcass

the heavy sway of shelving against gravity ~ the lack of information made us. . . want

the dead touch our world with mittens

this painting is a surfboard, i shaped it ~ ish

of course it used to be something else~ i like that about things and people

protect me from rain, dust, and splinters

beware of the flowers ~ because i'm sure they're going to get you~ yet*

*old punker song, by . . . you'll have to ask someone else~ El Mutante ? perhaps

look at all these handplane vehicles

you don't believe in cake ?

something awful about a plastic wrapped salad

fake greens / with salt and pepper

a rich golden fried color ~ of ~ i hate chicken

everything looks disgusting when it's over ~

and everything is over

the west is getting old

a horrible waste of trees~ to be forced to hold our leaves ~ against ~ our autumn

this is how i want to be killed~

bury me~ with a shovel

ghost bunnies

novels / poems / love letters here. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a modified infinity here

an earth composed of spherical sky and childhood clouds

try not to look at something beautiful or another something hideous~ $ 10 !

you don't believe in cake ?

cars didn't always have cup holders / we used to drink in appropriate drinking locations, like diners and bars and puddles. . . out of our hands~ cupped

i failed a lot of this type of test

i feel generic and sterile / you look delicious

we're all just as stuffed ~ but not as squared

NE!L~