He got deeply-held grocery eyes, him.
Pleased, he had went roughing round.
He fill him stomach, my cousin.
He BM my rightful challenge.
He chop the “Where I Pine” over and again.
Queasy now, him all and miraculously
Halfway there,
And we his A-OK stripped bare.
Me center.
He open what sack-a-dust?
“He so afraid,” said son-of-five to
He favorite shaking door.
He words of fuck cuss.
He nodding: “Where me clean, me, eh Mike?”
Him running.
He who found ornery needles
Through fingerings
Semicircular and withering.
The drunk slash asshole
Fukkin the concave-flung zoology.
Bustin jackets dear, more than
Any discovered weakness.
“Quickly climbing,
she yields,” says Mary,
traveling her, goddamnit.
Follow the free-granted,
Feral, and un-buried life:
Not of, but between
Buncha drinking cousins, them, singing:
Gone away for me cruising out on
daddy’s half-heard Road again.
studio arago 