Tho old Midnacker snacker tired a twit twit twit

the Me Tarty long true

The yentence peak peck slit slippymeek twang

twall I’d heerd was flip the hand curse

lead pencil in the shaky desk

Ah ow HURT!

Tantapalii the silken tont retchy swan

bent necky I wish I had enuf sense to swim

as I hear

O lousy tired gal

One more!

Choired arranged silence singers imbibing

belly blum

Wreck the high charch chichipa and get firm

juicy thebest thebest no other oil

has ever heard such peanut squeeze

On top of which you yold yang midnockitwatter

lying there in baid imagining casbah concepts

from a highland fling moorish beach

by moonlight medallion indicative spidergirls

with sand legs waiting for the non-Christian

cock, come O World window Wowf

&BARK!

BARK!

BARK for the girls of Tranatat

Because by the time those two Mominuan monks

with girls & boys in their matted hair pans

sense wind in the flower the golden lord will

turn the imbecile himself into slip paper

Or dog paper

Or that pipe blend birds never peck because

their bills are too hard

That window paper.

A Piece of Old Angel Midnight

Tool the tirlishes down, mejems seemst Ide time Saturday or Nunday, one O shot shick razor cut and meating this is the sharp blade of grass cuts the innocent ‘and when lambs bray—yay—and all the tape-boos & topatoos go cruing in Pakis Tanny the Loola Place where hides are bared, haired, & mared—or slunked with one axe head meat smap

That story you’se expectin O Brer Rabmollasoses you old Taird Tender Grant Cigared you at Appo ten thousand or more dead—daid—Eyes of Ray Charles see Me here realize O Holy

About the Author

About the Author