The beds are made the sun is a go;
Stick it in yr sheets the cleared and capable goat.
Likewise, give it good to the roach on The Lonely Show.
Make gorgeous the Wild West Derangement.
Manipulate with your hands and scissors the image-dream.
Imagine the roof of your mouth the root of the punk rose.
This is the river on its knees just yesterday calling home:
“Wash away ink, Rain. Wash away ink.
People got eternity.
People gotta chew the blues and curve and corner uncertainty
Certainly truly they came to be dancers
but lost the beat.”
Doo-wop
do it don’t mind;
Doo-wop the secluded night when they found It;
Doo-wop yr sore back on beach blanket, Satellite;
Tell your friends this is the shakedown uptown
Tell all the trends, any digital twins, any skinny make-up, any fear or kid, shadow or pet, any fancy clone or robot waiter, any strange stump or popular marriage, any forgotten playground or gravel pit or mud playground, any tomb or bow, peer or flat-eye, tear or crack, Orion, any angelic rogues or flat b sounds, any forgotten playground, any forgotten playground, the leaves on the
Portico.
The beds are made the sun is a go;
Stick it in yr sheets the easy body sound and beast;
Smoke the space joke and viper.
[The skin has three layers of tissue and electrelastic fiber.]
Chris Weige | California, TX.
A while back
