Monday, March 9, 2009

poem from a few weeks ago.

Santa Barbara School

I was christened by deli slices and vanilla wafers but nothing nearly digestible as your rump. Merry weather middle names kept us pregnant with ha has and hot air. Maybe it was a mistake to tell you in parcel post how


tastes like you out west. Open granges and cast iron ranges left us tripping on Joshua Trees. I prefer to be an ivy intoxicated median in your meta mph movements. Don't tell me breakfast

is more valuable

than Joy Division Public Enemy mashups. Wait, you lost your monorail ticket and you want to shower in my shoes? What happens intothe seamless stream line audible bass jam and beats?
It pieced out the mountain tops. AFrames in southern California told better bed time stories

than my

local RV clearance mart. Just imagine a nomadic spit shower in a rain forest of for rent signs. Did you see it under the concrete and skid marks? Your gingivitises bleeds just as well as Cubans for


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