As/Is







4.14.2005


BORES ON BOARD

Square stations
with silk like screens
vomit

hurtling information from unknowns to
the prescence

slipping through boundaries
in a poet row affair

less bloomed before it had begun, more
buds on the blog
flowering
in the windy howl
from Wandee Hoo

who's clouds above
royal glum ring tones
telling yawl

Whaassup 'n goin' doom with yer.

Art holes and kip toads
of co-motional bitter sweet lingo,
keeping heads straight set
on the jackpot mind of a gloom life
like you don't know what

you what
you what you what
you want, a term of opinion?

In office?
For wads of philistines to sing?

Of course, come in.
Be my guide
and chain swill me brutal
to the wonder how he do spell.