She said she was young but I knew better knowing age was a piracy and pity a darning sock with wool over it and the balance was rent, a trip to ski, a wig, a tear in the hole of being; all of which was good because it led to becomings, and away from the old static quarries.

Mona said this

'no matter what you do. it does not work. they impoverish me. its not teacher taught for you this semester. dada dull bastards don encourage my machine.'

this can clock the wayward smile. up the plateau she climb, cling as S do to strata of heaven's ass. Starbuckle to her wounded knee. Embrace yer room, embrace your womb.



then it was Air ~ Jany wore worked knee pad ~

over flood of here


there when swollen days gazed back, not primus to the mailaise machine postal to her puddle not like any other one she knew. Her mother her brother, her walk about day time night time lover. She wore a brief for him in her long down dress, longed for his arrival whilst turning round and round the golden tub, the gages of horn, her astraled lair.


her said colla

as collage and montage are part of art
so they are element of poetry.
the art of juxtaposition is what
theorizes the deaf tones between things,

__ as intervals link the spaces between lover's pauses.

when rause was cause to open your tiller

you knew it was time
time to open your hips ~~~ ____
So Myrna swirled from crisp ears of a touch
a glance a day away __

Had Mona known this in her heyday she'd be a millionaire of monnaie.
as it stand, she is the whipporill of trite saving accounts sanctified
by Owl, Swans, Baking Soda, Red Tooth Paste. Theophanic
strutting , hammer beams and sexual construction.

Should her dominant buttock hang as this
each every night Lord knows what dominations
she'd tend. to her flake vermillion trender.
Not series-ed by the full dose of her pecking strength.

Mona stuck the back of wellfed to kern
its kite a long ways off from Bronze woman &
her gold.

Sacking the mediums
as a wished for thief and concertina player
hoved the four wind aside abiding her contracting
self abay.

our schizoanalytic prose makes merry.