Jill tombe dans l' eau

Jill tombe dans l'eau, l'air a précédé son peur. La révolte des chose sembles un choix no semblable a l'ombre. Les choses ont met les cœurs en retard. La parapluie des évènements et le deviner de divine. Quoi donc? alors alors, oui oui comme ça le "franchement" et valide.

Ou Jill avait tombe dans l'eau des morts, des amants des amours, mort de son exteriour c'est la plupart des choses.

checque des doigts noir cœurs hor's d'œuvres ~

Jill le marie des ombres ~


little phone who made thee ~

Envelope mouth /aPe Lip of

Little poem who made thee, did he who make the world
deconstruct me, deterritorialize my fate then? was the
night my Iam Bic Cylinder, I am limp and shrimp on the highdays
of alonesome, guttered, filled with need, wanting, hungerin'
hand lip ass legs to caress in the cry of my body, cause
if I don't, I die, I do die, in the sight of their escape.
Pearl before swine in the sonnet, like socks without holes flood
the nape and neck of yer stiff-necked beckon. How shall we sing,
with our onions?

Were Franny and Mona, the true ones, blue and
tried like my ointment skin? O kith of kin, and in your santcum, shall we and Elizabeth rattle the melody. Are the days barren
nights only these loneliness, that I try on like strange grammars
Is that what you meant to say, Mister hypothesis? with your
transubstantiated consubstantiaed ends and means, your Kantian
quill and knock against the repeated stress. What is against?
What is it, that it so recurs repeatedly late and again against its tie of awareness and literature down the done and dome and
dime and ten cent stores?
Should we rattle and then move as her body does
who was the anorexic one eyes so intelligent, roving everywhere
like the haiku of your itr and intent as her soul must
I am every simple rhyme which pulls out and back
back to truth and beauty and beauty's storm its torment,
and the lost thought sings back, back the river before the angel who sits waylaying at the door when the father's pronounce,
and there is no sun like this gust that blows puffed and huffed
by near and night, beats it does, beat and beat the element air
clement as the night and her pardon hat which sits so


So and sew
sow thy mouth

parched of eat


passing the[e] pape

Was Mona merely becomings sentimental in the blubbery of 'greatness' and its hawked 'down' being? had she stumble bummed into the impassable passages of cloyed sentiment and the blood of a demi-god its awesome craters creators of lore and relic? was catholic not the becomings of nonbecoming total cash registers? stocks, bonds, the savings bank account, of the anticommunist. A cistern shell of the death watch?


Passsing the Pape

strangely enough as a stochastic dancer
of images
Mona was moved by the passing
of the Pope
the dada of the millions of molars
was some she shied from
but her heart was tinkered past
trying cynical
thus her red hat
and cardinal's robes a-flowing
she headed to Rome

for conclave
secret of the descending Spirit
the purged stairway
lead to grace after grace
the licking embers of the gone soul
the bardos of mention
and dimension
O Pape O father O dada of the molecule
that is not Father But Mother
I gathered you he said somewhere
like a hen that gathers her brood

it's what that Nazarene said
past the Damascus gate
after he'd entered Jerusalem


to some extent he'd been a working class clapping pope, even by accident, friend to Marx, the pilgrimage of desire's odd hat, the Paris hat, the doctors yacking hours into the night, high points, fine mettle of the quarrels, Marx knew the fact of labour, redemption was not its cost, but its price, its heighten'd price by capital's best catholic, . Some pudent impudent imp, of shape and clamour, clangoured the song, its outcome a paid rent on death.

Besides, who was the Nazarene but a drag on her Zarathustrian kilt her whacking good speak English before the purgatic fog, the tug boat chugged her harbour a barmaid to delicatessans so her eyes lifted, a wet lash to her lover's hug a mug lips to kiss me she wore her way weighted over my body a lover song to despatch the forlorn believers of death. And its body. Begining again she began her song .

___ as for good old Thomas, when
any man scrolled a song,
her welcome
was effusive
sweet melodic of

"Bring the tender tale true of the Pelican;
Bathe me, Jesu Lord, in what thy bosom ran
Blood that but one drop of has the worth to win
All the world forgiveness of its world of sin"

(Excerpt from Adoro Te Devote, St. Thomas Aquinas).

Adore te devote aredrome her Mona fancies were
Pulling him off the cross .

iam saint schizo

I am saint schizophrenia and here is the latest

be well I kss you in my imagine bed of our love

in bedding lovedove strata Jill's planted her fee


drafted first thought

Baffled the virtual & actual. Franny wore her sleeve upside down coming to him in nocturnal night. as she was one to his schizolanguelover ~ ..

"He read the words in the magic golden goldeon and was amazed at their perspicacity and the Irish girl saying, it's obvious , it's obvious to sing on your head, and read with yer toes. but to laminate the sticks Now that is another ting! Altogether!"

Nothing is easier than to familiarize oneself with the mammalian
brain. Get a sheep's head, a small saw, chisel, and forceps... and unravel the parts ... Guattari nodded asleep a drone on Deleuze's sleeve




Buffoonery? hmmmmmmmmm let us see the orient dew on his brow. Brown as elided strong cone.
Bumping along another plate she's yield to his heavy wait. Not gold but supper to make potatoes as wine to jewels and Nile to rent.

Meadown and Mediterranean. greek chorus to clap the hands of your resentment return ~..


This absolutely rewritten to be lute. as flute to her.


big bad deleuze to wicked guattari

Yea well the smoke filled auditorium the deterritorialization of relation the . night sawn night swamp. when he walked to a bridge. and the hair on the end. territory. bird woke. madrigal . over the apple tree. cornea of light.

passed the feet.
narrowing the gate. Her hearing was seldom cowed. She fared over a pier. Tolled by air at Dublin castle and the means of her harp? In Liffey wharves they hearken to gulls peeling back wings of sky. Ferment over cloud. Down below spume of back riding waves. over out dolphins riding. Trident of the galvanized hour. Amber bark gathering over her knee shanks. Not the hour of contempt and spent but the missive of plates.

You hear that Wicked Guattari? Not the men of ideas but the idea of men. Conscripted like a troupe players heeling on the castle wall.

Fiefdom of her hearing aid. She has adorned the aeredrom with hearing.

Big bad Deleuze to Wicked Guattari this and other songs ~ Rituals of the night, harbingers of the sky.

tell me about _One for one

Tell me all about Fanny _ yes she walked in my mouth. She was Franny to her Jill's Mona my three in one. We walked in the gated gabriel gates twogehter. many sexed t o one
not two /three textual. but to the 1000n power of sideway. her grab was into me inside outing the folding golding golden around the fold hedge.

them this and that. was willin to dodge a buller. fractured in the arena of sound. traitors like you are born everyday embryo!

I wonder where the yellow went ~ of course the night is a pair of _ thighs
longing down for the thighs of _ lip to south mouth to lip ~ .

tell me about

Tell me all about Fanny _ yes she walked in my mouth. She was Franny to her Jill's Mona my three in one. We walked in the gated gabriel gates twogehter. many sexed t o one
not two /three textual. but to the 1000n power of sideway. her grab was into me inside outing the folding golding golden around the fold hedge.