iteration 3.8001

beware. Son o’ Swill. pelt of the pompous yang cling to the gemini yin. Curator of hand-woven Buddha bindles deliver our meal rations for the winter, bundled in wilted foils. I stalk the garden’s ivy hall like a harlequin bobcat clown alone in the chaparral. Let us give it a go, an old college try perhaps. Just one magpie profusely. Mushi-shi Jelopy.  I’m first to Spazz proper at the velveteen sunrise. My feet sink into nature’s easel. Chiesel. El nino aches as a bastard for a surrogate. Hetchy breaks into a sweat of a cold barrier, dank of vespre…and swing do the merry leopard men on a Harley ride to Modesto.  Rendezvous at the See-Saw. half-lings pronounce a Hee Haw haw. What a rebel she is, deflecting turncoats, o’ each and every, doused in Jurassic jelly reclaim, thrown into the spokes of a rickshaw. regular Quickdraw McGraw of the playground, puppeted by etchings of nocturnal Viola jumpin’ beings. jive on. Whistle while widdle-work-riddle-scythes might chisel me a Scrimshaw.


Oscillating, return to ground zero…the final iterations of 3.xxxx

fit of the scope                                                                                                                                      neo-miners of electric streams, storms of our dormitory, warm beams of smother, colliding with each other,  K.O.’ed and collecting in vulgar troughs

Slashed at Noon by 10′ tape                                                                                                                  pollen box of chamomile. tiny tea sails of Darwinian wayfarers

pit of the grape                                                                                                                                  botanical refugee. color-blind to the chlorophyll, to the bark. the color of my mind is maternal blue in the dark.

Saloon red furs loom harness feathers of a loon

pen o’ tha vape …ribbons made of sun…streak the skylight perfectly in line with the scars on my body

An arch eye is a key to the chastity of a mighty moon.  I seek to silken Sednas comm-link center seamless. seasonal schematics of the small surface skimmer. Her technology has touched me awake to fragile guises. 

I’m a chemist of personality traits. Bunson Burner Betty, ford Clinique

tie my hair back,  puff on juicy jack ’twas a creeper cone.   courtesy of the ‘sco.      Mina birds of the background drop symphonics that play along to a woodblock knock of another bird pecking palm frond lattices. tramples over silent song of a comet. ad infinitum rise do falsetto frequencies, oscillator dog whistles of the cosmos 

Quite a quandary we’ve found ourselves in. O’ if everything was transparent. No thing can ever be exactly what it seems but an enigmatic Matryoshka dressed in cold iron questions.  What lies beyond the epoxy?  Does micro-sealant make a curtain call?  How does one nurse the subtle nature of a soft ground zero? What is Mk IV?  we’ve been collecting pieces for what looks to be a network of training temples, or then again it could be a portal….Perhaps the puzzle be better ascertained: Who is Mk IV? Although such answers allude us, we know how to get there. I’ve got a vessel. Now all I need is a captain and that no good dirty iteration machine. 

It’s time to build the door.