I wanted something to eat.

So, I ate the bottom up under the Arkansas,

The river of the afterlife, starlit, sole night-shot pink and blue

Expositions.

A damned, dirty, misspoken sense of self lying all over and over again.

Pause. Here, for a moment, Please :

Wait.

Let me explain, if you would.

It’s in my best interest to say it straight : how it’s better to dance at something

    <    Nothing.

The bloody vassals feeding Gadflies to the horses’ mouths.

Re-groupings at Zone Fear, black birded caws, more interesting,

Bigger, better, super

Bright sickle cells.  

Oh God, I’m so paranoid.

Oh God, this is all wrong.

Og Hood, I’m regressing to sleep.

It’s my dingy, hyena torn shoulder,

Bastards Lost In Space Crying :

More Fear for Heaven Keys ! !

I am hungry and fully fed against any, and all, each possible disease.

All of creation laughing at me, spontaneous, forcefully feeding beached food :

Hot Tamale : Chicken Wing : Corn Dog : Whole Wine Casks : The Evening News :

Extinction plausibility. . .

No Salt or Water.

No Fire or Wood.

No Cold Moss to suck.

No, Nothing, None.

I wanted, I did, I wanted every Vampiric [sic] living-thing For Free,

That way my grandiose, not dead-heart, could kill more dominant,

Diversionary evils :

The Broken Key Stuck in the Clock.