POETIC LABOR PROJECT

    

                            between boredom and shock we oscillate

                            gods and I

                            lodged inside the phrase "end to end"

                            with attraction and resistance

                            suppositions and same pages

                            a glowing green exit sign busy at its frigid vigil

                            posits through another sort of pointlessly

                            gorgeous coastal afternoon, music by james ferraro

                            blinkered and ratchety from a lifetime of norcal cannabis

                            and the lame doom of state school student debt

                            excesses of ellipses distinguish 

                            you whose drones opened wide 

                            a mouth to whisper this

                            boxing phonemes from hot cogitations

                            licked insanely by daylight

                            through senile and skin-tight distances

                            the finest life is turned into insipid fiction pretty quickly

                            cloudless blue upper place wherein sun disappears everywhere

                            the universe is fine it has its place is all I'm saying

                            a piece of coffee linking me to sleep

Mondo Bummer © 2013

i'm calling 
chest-deep

from the new

cool urban lots

& have with

me here a 

very fine grant 

proposal 

that's really 

cutting up 

the present 

century for 

love of first 

recursions

among 

which we 

manage to 

flake enough 

sense off

the rigor

mortis of 

an effaced

quarter to 

call back 

the sour body-

dark AM

side of what

though finite

still took

forever as

if before a 

"daily basis"

is established

there must be

some kind of 

energetic

anesthesia 

amassed

wild above

waste and

scale in-

side what 

arrives in
anybody's
inbox

every other 

glance at 

a time

summed voluptuous

bark empties sap this

ground it's not in

of branch and mood the

field's forms order them

am by green remanded 

© 2012 The Cultural Society