Downy Mutella, if we see cool Spring days atop
extruded butter walls, if we see Francisco Goya
a hominy to the terminus of carnival, crystal prison they made
for signals in gnostic arsenide, or gallic gallium gone to gallant ends
all round the probe, Telluride in painting, then, then, Conestoga again,
the articulating Herpetological Vexillology, to wit, "Do not tread on me..",
but writ as a machine, writ as a prairie train, hauling freak cactus
to libertarian laboratories, or whatever, rasa bona hyla phona,
cybernetic vexatives upon the imperium of the hand, triode nodolondo
for the sussurum of brimming plumb, the dumb finality of orthogonal
logophthalium, most live things a plus to themselves but not much
to others, or all, and neither much all told, the root of knowledge's
own sigh, the sigh of self silly ruin, and the desired oblivion, or walk
anywhere aling a long line at XCM> There were only bad choices.
Downy Motilla,
cotton air shirt thing
too huge
the giant rotten skull
too strange the incessant
soldiering surface
Short History
of Existentialism
Wretching return
gag reflex
Gog reflux
Pedal yawn.
