Untitled In 1-27-90

I sat in a kind of wasted skin stupor and try to make sense of my reality idiom in pisces blue A minor sequence aqueoushumor blind sigh-ted by a dubious passion to be a teacher of pious on metaphors to go to the holy innocents of a yestertommorrow I talk ramble by day of the slammer sociomenace while they glassed eyed park their sick l cells in unneutral and (in double park synapse in tow---let me catch an old glimmer of naked frenzy-taut as a stretched, cracked brittle rubber band praying for one last turnstretch to flipfly a higher band than the last cloud pattern, given to the raised eyebrows of montoya clammerings of hocus pocus Jekyll/Hyde explosive endeavor trick or treats without the brownwhite wrapper or the righteous look pinch pout pocket of a boy dowell. Keep the false faith friends,