and if i walk off into Forever, then I’ll be right happy and radiant
I stopped walking on the building, where the clouds were so close to me. Not that I liked clouds. Haley was already there. He told me that his tits were hurting. So I pushed him off because it was annoying the repeating voice saying how I caused his tits to hurt like that. Then I went over the edge as well, but it turned out that some idiot had been selling new phones on the street and I saw before I stopped falling that Haley was still alive.
All the pigs, and there were lots, had their (inferior) phones recording everything, from my upstanding appearance to the difference between how much I screamed and Haley’s screams on the way down. We had both fallen on a stretch canvas tent, those with four legs you do by your hands and push them together when you’re done with the fake building. Haley was already out of the crowd. He was running because he didn’t want all the flashing lights in his stupid face. I took advantage of his absence to tell all the people that I had tried to save Haley, and that whatever he had said was inadmissible due to his hurting chest udders. He was all kinds of wrong.
People from other buildings either heard some screaming or saw the growing crowd and decided, predictably, to stay where they were and not swell it large. I didn’t care how many people looked at me or yelled at me to tell them if I was alright or I should be charged or medaled or if they should go about their business. Who the fuck cared about Haley’s beautiful hurting tits when he kept talking about them. So I sat down and closed my eyes and ignored the people telling each other that I might be deaf for not hearing their questions, or not aware of their reasonable lives, at this moment, having their postures and their all heaven clothes. Yeah, I just rested there for a while until some hands took me because they thought they were knowledgeable about hand grips and carrying other people. Busy bodies.
I did dream of Haley’s tits. They were so just there. And I always told him to fuck off. But they were magisterial. Too bad I almost killed him.
There were rain on the ground, where I stepped past the store. It was all dark and cold but the store light was illuminating all the drops coming onto my head. I was chewing on chocolate, filling up a little before I got to the meeting. Not a city civic meeting. It was robbery and telling the newspapers to create a market for new poetry. That’s why I was going, because I was being told off by persons who felt some way about what I had done.
I dropped the wrapper on the ground crossing to the other side of the street. No cars, but I would have done it even if all the city was watching. Littering. And hearing some music that put the drivers feeling secure in their entertainment. But they would not like me littering, their street, in their face the bluster. So it was nothing, and I did not even think about trash cans or organized trucks.
Almost there and the wind. Two others wearing a sweatshirt and a suit like they weren’t even together. But they were and they knew I disregarded them and they didn’t like that. But they couldn’t touch me, those two faceless tall people past me and we were never on the same sidewalk.
There might be some head routine, figuring source copies and spices like you never seen in your nose, from your eyes, squeezing out and your screaming, making sure that looking at words on this weak screen looks so much worse than in print, in paper it’s soooo good but here? This is disgraceful like I would be up into no world and no currency for quotes and character speeches bombing my hair on my arms because I never had a single hair on my arms before and not every ever gonna have hair on my arms because I care soooo much about hair on my arms, that’s what repetition is no? For emphasis about hair on my arms? I’m just going to talk all you existences on the internet and actually believe that you ain’t like how you are on wordpress and creating a whole world for yourself because I’d have to screaming myself to drown if you’d actually be real people. Y’all is not here. If y’all here, I’mma go out elsewhere.
hand off lying tulla poor play for while I sit and while I stand your fucking metaphor is so weak that I have to tell you that I don’t write cloud metaphors if you think this is some sort of showcase or standing rightness hover and dive toward my fingers typing not one more typing not one more t letter t and typing it begins with t and what, Poetry Foundation? Holy spirit that I cannot see there have been more than thirty billion works created of any kind of medium and all of them and the current writing posted between five minutes before this hjhjhjhj and ten minutes after this select bullshit like how the fuck you even write if it’s MORE work how the fuck do you want MORE work the perfect world is not one that your sorry ass would be understood or liked or having received some thick kind of flash that you claim you want but that there would be no having to do anything at all not laziness but that thing where the only reason I have to write this junk work is because of culture and all the people that actually believe culture is a real word how fucking small do you think I am? Very small, but I am even smaller than that and you is all big or maybe you’ll be small tomorrow for five minutes and then go big for four hours and reverse it not so the day passes but that it goes backward and all you’re left with is my face telling you that if you cared about something anything you would not share it you would keep it all to your fucking self so don’t tell me you have things or you hate something or you have loves or anything at all cuz that’s a fucking lie if you tell me or tell anyone else you keep that locked up tight not no cornerstone review on the back of your harper collins or farrar strauss and giroux the fuck you think this is some personal encouragement? You favoriting fantasies, you don’t even like what you have and you’re determined to keep out anyone like me telling you that you cannot, you cannot create alternate eyes for you to use when trying to make it feel better you have to hit me so hard and pray that you kill me, and if you use classroom english, where you say certain things are predicates, or metaphors, or juxtapositions, then smack me harder because I don’t belong in your fantasy world, come back to real life when you’re ready to have soul and not weep when someone you know is inside the bathroom in a bathroom filled territory having their stomach come back up and I’m hearing it and I haven’t talked to this person in a long while and they feel something for me but they keep puking and I do not talk to them because they are trash and if i was puking I would hit them if they tried to make me feel better because I need to puke that bullshit up as I am inside your fantasy world with every single blog posted in this moment for all the tags that you never knew existed because wordpress is a terrible site and if i was running things it would be shut down so I don’t have to be aware that wordpress exists with all you clowns running to it like it was your best mate.
Some special dark lying to reaks to reaths for special services this eye catch inside mineral toast and spreading speed all weekly visits taking planeships along further fields burnt like holiday poison making real books at nine dollars australian currency shut up fool we ain’t talking paper currency we talking
nothing. It makes sense. You won’t do nothing, but then you do everything except the only thing that matters like picking that corn or fucking your teeth right into dark lying stiffs saying weeds and telling hour and two hours and the whole fucking day you just did all of this abomination like using high pitched voice at that one moment and then you sat and completed your fucking work with educated culture like in one frozen smell all gas pour over chip bags and home fucking literacy fu alks jrfij 4i8jsa dfjekrf fuc kwd cifucj ufck fsjukc your fuck urou fyou fuck your all of you fuck all or f hou fuck you all of y’all is culture is knowledge is this is that
it’s all sandwich, mixing carrots and steak. people don’t even have shreeeded carrots and steak they got tags and categories and fucking I am I am I am this I’ll have you hit me then fucking hit me then fuck you hit me