The Derangement of Manuloquio had rendered all mass a justipotential mythode.

deep, deep conventionality driven by risk 

aversion rooted in all of the above

it's just that the whole

universe is just a mushy bunghole

pushing glitter around

nobody can cut and paste

big sections of suns

into menandering

bone-monday'd

serpent letters

it was the age of yoohoo

and the glandulinian fred

was building toward

a kind of vaguely boring

popcorn fart of an apocalypse

she called cells

google titties

he called them beating baby seals in Prell

there were already walls

of washy skeleton hordes

pretzels at the windows

in dayglo doodoo mobiles

Language

is a Tartarus

but whose complaining

is loudest?

Is it the self-effacing monument to glamour (a self)

whose delicate streaming data braids

drift like ladders

into pure animation?

or is it the chimerical hyphen

whose golden 'minus touch'

renders every addition

a subsumption

an entanglement

a hybrid

a mixotic

a templar?

Now kynicetischism

has shed its philosopher,

to reveal the blind instrument of justice,

objectification as pure animus.

nous' doubled quest-ion-is-aten

Napoleon's true meaning

is to represent

positivity or fourness

as the plan of all surfaces,

the map whose abstraction

crosses itself

before the concrete.

greatness comes

in small packages.

and weirdness follows

as  the "fada who attends"

the doubled hyphen

some have said that every game contains the idea of death,

but who is it that said that

every nimbus contains the idea of transformation:

the black sun's blue sky

like a gorgon reveals

a green tongue.

and there is no reason to think

that next years buildings

will not also be beautiful

for though the hyphen heavy crushing mind is absolutely nimble,

it may be retracted at any moment

and the guardian that stands by you,

your domestic bridge,

can only be

a memory of thunder

for if the whole sky is an eye,

is not each being

a shutter

and the whole of writing, the whole of history

its name

the depth of field 

like an open category

is open to transation

the din

oh the din of the crescent supper

upon the wheel of 

dream

our centurion clown

toppled by the west row

my life should have been different

and is

this blood red table

enacts an indigo ghost

of diagrams

upon a winding sheet

of unknowing ledgers

is not the body in the world

a thought within the mind

a ringleader

whose ourobourous

hides its threeness

within the 

Napoleontic $4

4-3-1-2

If I wear my lungs any higher

my eyes will be wings

Sherlock Napoleon

visits like Jesus

the home of Diogenes Watson

'do not be blinded by vision'

it only rains

in the central ring

and the fecund snake begins there

HEATSINK

a ball point pen

to enter

the void of sex

industrial popcornization

of the mythic film

squirreling away our meaning

for a day with due debits

disinterest 

period

the hyphen drifting

like an unmoored ceiling

of thought

what Cerberus founded

was a cinema

of incandescent blood

a priest

of pleatings 

a gypsy kiss

on the banks of a silent lutening

a fog place

where time in a furniture clock

confounded copulation

with the ecstasy of communication

and so
the bright knowing
grows on
hercules caged
in the whisper
of a circus

a poodle shaped
sewing machine
in a nest of green licorice