Written at Nectar, in Seattle.

Once again upon a time, into the lancet, the spun disc, the spun section of a track, of limb language and the under language, the exquisite, the absolute need, traffic of thirst, hands of cuff. A maul, a peeled chance, and the ribbon that she carried is something all men, or none, can feel, between their teeth, between their thumbs. Twin slice. Hermanos.

Let me give you one more chance. Scream into the abyss. Touch your jawline while a scream intends across epidermis. Rib fix. We scramble. Hawk straits presumes innocent balance. Quagmire of innocent. Plateau correlation. The scrub of the decade and its emotive frisk.

The white people mouthing black words like gold. A phenomenon of phenomenal appropriation. And sure. We all know these songs. These words. When you like it raw you risk disease.

I’m sure of sure in the land of the incredible. In the smolder of the situation. In the balance of the conscious thought and the reiterated. Drama play or perfect reflective stance?

Biting down to the core. The spurt of the deceased kitten. Image provided by the scar. Scar provided by the forward troll. Listening to the span of time and the vibe of displacements. A rearranging of rose colored zapatos.

It could occur when the joints decease. It could explore when the rants approve. Retro indecency. A delicate delay in a chasm of relics. Servile triage. The rest is a delay.

Each popular conception is a placemat of struggle. A touch of the inquisitive. Focus. But on the jumping denim. The splash of flesh upon pinkish gray. Gravity es gravitas. The zipper mouth. The spiral southward scale. A scald worth of posture. Mouthful before the satiny aftermath. Before the extensive arm and leg sonata.