a semi-automatic poem


evening
sickness in their sockets
shrinking
outside the throat is muddy free spinning around
with a tangential line through the scream at me
and itchy, the asphalt
material
sticks

an outdoor swimming pool in the blood flowing,
tuck the desert all these hot skewers into your
stomach, the contents into the wind just couldn't
quite synchronise this point is taut with doughy
globs of the heroes and stir until the dry and
no one
clock's running
contents into more
godzilla of bent double with going to the end
of choice

support me while i can dream of the plastic
driver who stayed
in her dress in this is real beauty of traffic

consumer the panorama
like grit in her way

colours were great and the string around me but
it were a spinning around me to two at least

you're precisely the flesh
can't see her
direction but i wake up in four and no interest:
myself instead i don't worry about her making
noise
quietly on think
filling you were busy
setting fire to hear
hung on spinning around
my mouth and the floor with vodka and the speed
shaky as we should be

warm but they're approaching it rains i looked back and
let my stomach caused by the scream at least a finger nail
that perfect fucking bifurcation of a cardboard cutout of
the end of here waiting for digestion to guess
store

lot of speed shaky as he was warm but you find
hiding under the moonrock you
   breathe the
gap   through the shore and itchy, the heroes
in celebration

listening?

says everything about you need
thoughts

reverie
eye and think
theres a tree and
breaks back stunned

prevent rust
control
sickness in my teeth

below
rocking