THE CHOSEN


all I do the one thing was a
knotless net falling from the
ceiling light the door fe//
off your lap was peeling
in the 5 directions 11.1.11
aimed my radish for the
dogfood store nestled
in the morgue o steep your
lunch and let it sail

so the coldcuts in the wind
the bowel cave pro
noun ces ≈ rivers and the
crawling lamp your gaso
line imbibes a hair
tugged out my eye a
,mutt a )fork!( roll
ing in the mustard eh
the tongue one dragged me

non essere nemmeno stare