Apt. A - cLOUDDEAD

Star fish

Alive

And liquid on the lighthouse stoop

Saturday morning four window spotlight

Turns the stained sunday bed sheets

And back again in the end

Speaking voices

Swapped the specs

The keen eye titles litter

And after all I found it

Circle K (Boomerang)

Shitty coffee

Hunger pangs

(Boomerang)

To beans

The guy’s on the corner with a broken can opener

Dirt shots

Plastic flower print

Poet headed bore

Bore the messenger practice

A tactile cactus (shh…)

Leaders in the making-us-drought system

No lattice around the naked edges of a trash heap art piece

I raise my eyebrows when somebody calls me clothed

Hands off

Better to feel our width

Trash heaple collecting ex-presidents next door

Lodging the lump in our throats

God’s daughter’s built for speed

Lives on the fourth floor

We’re in the basement

«Gas main office

Tenants speaking»

Where the marionettes hang waiting

for

wet hands

To stiffen the limp pen

Fuck the fashion show

Crumbled

Bubble

Limbo’s

Window

Trapped

Trim brushes

Paint buckets

Second story roof tag

What it means to have an artist plug a black hole with mortar

Close circuit walk home

Broken brick and lease is up

House is open

Keyhole empty

Meet you out in California

Rucksack, sleeping on nude beaches

Performing for our dimes and nickels

Sewerside on street corners speaking out our piece

We’ll till the land with a pulled up parking meter

'Til the soil churns to wind

A stretched taffy howl to peacock plume, our haircuts

The painted pigeon dessert’s a crust of bread

The former melon’s rind and open empty shell

Which ones get the poets' bedrooms?

And kicks the pebble loose

A sylvan lot

Its painted rail

A horde of cricket carcasses

The same old hat

Under open sky sound

Big difference

Listen to my head

Twin prince dilutions

Skip their last supper

C’est la vie

Tchotchke

Bags packed in boxes

Our thrones in the dumpster

Bon voyage

Red

Pipe

33 E McMillan St

Apt