Lost Cut Up

Nothing more entertaining or humbling than going through old documents (most of mine are on floppy discs and essentially lost to time) but there are a few on CD. This goes back to 2001 and I vaguely remember writing it in a delirium. It's a cut up poem (a la Burroughs). There are some nice bits here. For bored readers only.

Carnage visors

The couplers are moving amidst windowpanes caught reflecting
The gaseousness of carnage inspectors ; we are all familiar
Hands drawn from the pointed beaks of the rosary
Hands drawn from the breaks of the pointed rosary
Hands pointed by the drawn beaks of the rosary
Hands rosy from the pointed breaks of the drawn
No feeling by the wayside ; you are driving too fast
Round corners that flip us sincerely worry and melt
That new edition ; a big consumption is coming upon us
Not breathing this time just being cool in the sun
Not sunning this time just being breathe in the cool
Not cooling this breath just sunning the time
Not timing this sun just cooling in the breath
We all feel the virus of language and baggage of the tides
The movement is not sincere it turns us towards the wayside
The edition is no longer new ; we don’t need more art
Not in my pool and not in this hot weather
Not in my hot pool and not in this land of couplers



Southpaw bat (carnage visors redux)

The couplers are beaks of the rosary
Hands drawn are from the breaks of the pointed rosary
Hands the no longer carnage driving moving amidst windowpanes caught reflecting
The gaseousness feel the virus inspectors ; we are all familiar
Hands drawn from pointed by of you of language and baggage of the tides
The pointed breaks being cool in the sun
Not sunning this time movement is not consumption is coming upon us
Not breathing this time just that in the breath
We all the drawn it of the flip us sincerely worry and melt
That new edition ; a the the pointed too just being fast
Round corners sun just cooling rosary
Hands of the not in by rosy from; new ; we don’t need more art
Not in my pool and of this hot weather
Not in my hot pool and turns us towards the wayside
The edition is not in this land drawn
Not timing this sincere beaks wayside big breathe in the cool
Not cooling this breath just sunning the time
No feeling couplers

Cold drawn water from the source

White is the side of the sky tonight
Like the instances when we feel the stars twinkle in bowels
The twinkling that makes the skin peel back to perform
Peeling back is necessary it makes art that much more
Tactile in the presence of common denominators
Remember covering, clothing, converting, codependence
Just look at how we sail these potential weaknesses