where and

where are you fictions .

as a tasmanian devil hiding. wearing the pink blue stucco of red underwear? Is this Mona in her jersey sailed beyond brigand sea, past any cape of hope?

________________________ O the fir tree and frigates we've been.

O the tire of round wax and the drill of napes.

the cement forest. the centime of dross. or desire's ghastly hedge!


Frannny has her...

Franny has her fill.... dark nights ... shared over the passage ... this type of landscape..'s no word its bucket pillaged filled with the voisin of peerage. Not the stocking geese of yet to yesterday but

other airs of a piano in the North ...

rocketing in the sun

as the trampoline wire play .... Franny has worn her rag long born its bottom to her tuning fork. Her breast sucked at by lover and lover has heard the call of corridor and training. Ripped to shreds by the night, she's borne her tracks without debasement.

Her continuing saga love's folly.A sage brush to tank her fuel storage bursting at the gillie of the moment.

Puffed and huffed her wayward meter. She's counted knaves on her feet.

Come to her kissing ~ .

and lying-in . ~

Za chto za chot in another life ~


must be

You are fired Mister. What? she cant share her shoes? grasp what camera of fig? figged your ment to sorrow grounding. Over the rose of overwhelme d she. tears. the knocking out of the story.it must be her netting .

Times like this Jill is very sorry. sorry is story. 8 feet off the ground. the offal of her memory is greek fuse's cartridge. her pell sea is pestered to her ink. like any narrative womb. hilting the sea supper.