Wednesday, February 25, 2009
spinning reapers mowing brown grass. blackened grass. if it’s gotta be good, it’s gotta be good. crumblies always make the better choice when downhill darlings sigh ‘oh god’ when their spots are taken. it’s too light, he said. take it back, show me all you got he said. show me all you got he said. i’m conscoius of all worlds he said at least those that i’m conscious of he said. thank god in heaven the neighbors flushed their radiowaves properly this time. stop coughing he said. adjust the speakers to face in. face in, adjust them face rightly. rise over run he said. sprinkle out the mushroom dust over the receiver, into the receiver. not too light. if there aren’t any clean socks by morning i’ll have your head he said. it’s gotta be good, it’s gotta be good he said. i can feel the mosquitos he said sucking me off. mosqiutos sucking me off. they’re sucking me off he said. thank god in heaven he said, because it’s if it’s gotta be good, it’s gotta be good. i felt the sweat the sweat above my lips he said. i felt it hit my tongue and explode he said. oh god. the blackend grass he said the blackened grass my nieghbor fired shots they all exploded he said. exploded rightly upon my tongue. it’s gotta be good he said. there’s gotta be rage. there’s gotta be love of country he said. take a blind eye. take a blackened eye but butt horns with everyone he said. oh god. adjust. face in he said. adjust in to face rightly he said.