02.24.2007

the car won't start, it's got weight hitched to its backside, its got morals and they're saying all this isn't right.

there's a pulse to the boxcars tripping along the rails, its the pulse like a tea kettle heating, like a car engine coughing, it won't start. its screaming its whistleblown

my head and eardrums are in this second edition of conundrum. aching tastes, my brain is in last place.

the next door neighbor accepted the cake

someone give me some percussion, anything to overlay this coughing engine, it just won't start, nothing ever does but it falls apart

that is the sound of life: the discombobulating weather patterns, pulsations that fade away, everything seize the day, night brings exhaling seizure, hearts decay