Reading of a very fresh poem from Sean while listening to the golden age of Jazz and painting sea lions.
It would be better to be frantic than to be relieved.
Lying my head on a single rope.
Listening to the occasional deep gurgle of this river, which comes on its own.
Trying not to look at these girls in pink bikinis
Like Kaka in the park
Suddenly surrounded by a gaggle of ladies
Shutting his eyes tight like a child
They were enjoying
The Persian abuses he was hurling
Which they thought was singing
So he had to go running
Blindly
Not wanting to look at his own nature
Eyes fluttering
Almost time to return
To the dirty linens
Which have been machine dried
Everything aligns
Just right
To pay attention to
Everything you've been trying to avoid
The hardest job in the Universe
Would be to make love forever
You wouldn't last 15 minutes in his position
Reaching tentacles into every particle in existence
Receptionist gives you rock face
Waiting for you to produce solid credentials
I am more like a snare hit
Or a cymbal crash
Not long enough to have much meaning
Mainly responding to everything else
But reeking of myself
I bring these fresh bags
To the backdoor unlocked
Looks like there's a hot babe moving in nextdoor
With a bald boyfriend
Her rented dodge ram moving van blocks the entrance
Responsibility presides my hunger
Oxen eating moss
Hard working but difficult to move
Sometimes stampeding
Through your cities
Trash collection
I've lost the point
3 minutes too late
Singing unconsciously
Dove coo
Or chicken coup
Like a tomatoe riot
Rippling bulges of trees
Time-bomb
Doesn't wait for anything
Eternal eruption
Like the Sun
Or the black box you see
When you take your eyes away from the screen
And close your eyes
A Baria of birthdays
Last night or now we're back
Raised eyebrow
Cascade of dominoes
Love licks itself
Like toast and dead tuna
And another peom somewhere else
That is more important than this
Thistle therapy whistle call
