Old Notebook

Old:

ABC
Alphabet Jungle
Sea Monster Mechanic, two mouths:
1. dreamstance
2. Poetic Interference
I'm calloused by the non-witty crackheads of tomorrow's coffee
Something tells me you're the crook...

Older:

The secret to burning yourself down is mathematically incorrect.
Video war; self centered imagery
The famous cutleries and their rather aimless acting abilities
saunter through you like nausea
"I'll cut you like a knife" and they clamber noisily up ladders of golden nightmare. Effegine,
my clever nun.
Voice like a cheese grater
Soft as a gun
Carries my second wife
(her tumor-ego laughs fake tans into my eyes like radiation)
My brother's flat-mate,
Susan,
danced pectorals into her long term co-worker
25 dollars at the door.
Chapter 2 brings an elegant old crust,
medication dictatorships.

How long have we known eachother?
The cliche cliche catch-me up of extroverted script-writing.
To take her place.
Mahalesh Mahalesh La La
Back to the ferry
back to the dirt.

I don't give a shit I don't give a shit
About making sense.
About catching the last train.
About dancing in the rain.

My hands are a heart hair line fracture
Bitten by bad drivers and
The architects of this dream are long gone
And the shit-covered ballet stars scream:
"Had I known, I would have--"
Etc.
Kissing an albatross. They ride bicycles into the ditch.

The plug being pulled on old times.
Secrets Secrets
Catching my feet on the foot of the bed
I am a constant downfall
Writing down the fifty states over and over and over and over.

Blowing up balloon people with weak fans, frosted by cigarette ash cool as the night air.
Seeing movies at midnight, skits and in the morning listening to a lengthy lecture about drugs.
I buy you cigarettes, glad for an excuse glad for an excuse.
His car gets stuck on the tree root outside my house. Push and push.
Fights, sex and sleep. No sleep.
-sad person - disgruntled person-
box hats.
I'm trying to light my cigarette but there's batter on the floor and I'm scared.
On doing the right thing and hamburgers:
walking to parking lots and running into heartbreakers where your friend becomes quiet.
Sadly quiet.
Adventures down preston paper on dead electronics and tv shows.

ankles broken in the mud,
An ache crawling though the cracks in my jaw,
chewing down my teeth on the couch where i hear your shaking voice speak of heart break and my heart is broken too, just for you.