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GALAXY VS. SABRETOOTH Andrew Boeglin


GALAXY VS. SABRETOOTH

copyright 2013 ANDREW BOEGLIN (KNOWN ALIAS: WILLIAM SEWARD BONNIE] INTRODUCTION BY: DUSTIN HOLLAND TRANSLATED FROM THE KLEFT BY: FRANKIE METRO WITH BUD SMITH

for KLEFT JAW PRESS


I first met William at a two night poetry/music extravaganza. Because every introduction to every book begins with an anecdote about meeting the author. The first night, we all met at his house and it became immediately clear that William was/is/will continue to be kindness personified. He’s also one hell of a poet. Mr. Bonnie’s poems are homemade, hand-tailored lions leaping for your heart strings and they love you very much, America. — Dustin Holland


content let the universe pour abundant provisions on you

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this head is in a tumble

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egyptian nights

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GETTYSBERG

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MY OPEN EYES

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SAYONaRA

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JAMES HARDEN

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13:47

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CCC

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NAPKIN POEM

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TO LOVE

30

OUR LAST DAYS AS CHILDREN

32

at the center of a universe

35

LAWYERS FIRST

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:)

38


HMBOV

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ADDICTION

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OUR SWINGSET: A SPACESHIP

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"THEN HE JUST PUNCHED THE MICROPHONE!"

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EACH

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BABY

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ATHENS COUNTY

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7&7: JOHN ELWAY’S FAYGO

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FURTHeR

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com trueism

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“you are the poem of a city, my darling, and a rainbow inside of this hurricane.”

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I dealt with it

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Galaxy Vs. Sabretooth


dedicated to Justin Anthony Calva


(let the universe pour abundant provisions on you)

I, art-deco architecture, fetch-in a single word. More so, wretched & a foot, bushwa: lude. smooth wrist bones broken at the disco. you know, she does too. this world will be alright without either of you. you’ll be lucky not to be trampled on, danced over, glances lowered. for it’s not in the way you pray it’s what you do day to day that makes you a saint. with my eyes closed, I see in splattered paint baptize myself in the rain understanding the meaning of life is courage & strength

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II: but I don’t live anywhere here is not a lair it is a patio… with shrubs, overcast skies and espresso. Humbums, who have a say no more… for often times… I am too loyal. Spoils of war is the knowledge bestowed, oh it’s a landslide though. this is an ode to the beautiful barista girl, the one with the button nose, curly hair and no make up the one who’s smiling at me, and has no idea I’m writing to her.

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III, I drive aimlessly around the front range… taking pulls off my cannabis pipe accompanied by the sounds of “naked city” I feel rather alive. Inside, is a heart which races my brain has facial recognition software and I’m tasteless. morally raped, I continue this stalemate with my emotions the commotion signals a devotion to substances & producing blues. summer’s lonely rules. To think, at one time I had so much love to lose, funny how the world turns…

IV: giant steps to little places all I asked for was a room with a view.

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this head is in a tumble I made a conscious effort to be awake in all the tunnels car rides, bus rides, light rails & planes. the days funneled out and trickled down the ladder I was proud to fall down now even more so then the only ideas I have begin and end with the thought of your scent. trends are but a fault I’m split and at a loss, but the real time is tough the only thing I ever wanted was trust but I assumed it was luck struck by the night’s fare, it’s fair to assume these black eyes deal with stares brushes with death in the early morning subconscious point to tumors rumors which filter torment through these 20/20’z guided words for worlds not finalized I am but an italicized ink blot on a coffee stain these teeth are bust rust I rushed into thinking I’d die young,

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now I feel as though I’m dead set on living longer stronger, plastered, go-getter, counter culture ratchet for hire at any corporate chain I used bleach in preparation of this resume I pretend I want to buy video games want to be a manager one day it’s all binary code out in the real world, smile, polite, intellectual but not opinionated, easy to remember & hard to pick out of the room the one with the non regional accent and nonchalant demeanor but these feelings are sincerely steadfast, and my pledge is forever underground

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egyptian nights I’m riding through the graveyard, splashing through the puddles on this overcast day. my tire track swirls in between the bronco’s tracks which is now puttering away. lost are the days of youth, as like I cared anyway. behind me is a funeral procession, thirty or so cars deep. Mexican family: beautiful: grieving. I hide my face, never turning around… I feel as though I AM leading, whomever, to the ground. swirls of colors rupture from the oil in the puddles as they splash onto my red framed bike. like it or not, I thought, the wind will be coming tonight. I felt the rattle of my bones as the anticipation of first snow, now breathes with the combating of fall. I see the mountains in the distance, awestruck with the feeling of winter, the city to the south, bound by memories. standing on the footsteps of a bookstore, smoking cigarettes laced with liquid hydrocodone. all before the hour long walk through the dirty slush and smog filled cold. coughing my american spirit, 16


as if I should have known, that this American life breeds cancer among sorrow. back in the bathroom, the shower screaming with the broken toilet closed, the mist folds the paper to my diary as the words begin to run soaked, dripping, loathed. my heart foams for methadone, but the shivers press on. surrounded by people who love me, I now feel at ease leading the procession of people to a grave meant for me. past the mausoleums, between two aspen trees, next to the fence by the tree ladened lake that’s where my empty Pharaoh chamber is found...

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GETTYSBERG these nights are bright ego laden rhymes simply meant to spread light to MY tribe of many colors a new age in life. I gamble & roll dice to get to the places I need in my time… WHAT IS VICTORY without strife? WHAT IS LOVE without lonely nights? when I close my eyes… I see her smile in endless white shaded hues of yellow & geometric patterns to my delight. It reminds me of those few days in Ohio when the world felt right so I write & write… explaining every instance through these eyes hoping one day to exist with you in this post-apocalyptic paradise I am a parasite to the vaccine that is your mind these three simple words that run across my smile AUSTRALIA. 18


MOON. EVANS… why I still haunt these streets a mile high… in hope you’ll meet me here & we can ride until we DIE… be reborn and fall in love all over again in our next life… my meditation has lead me to this… empty house with a warm bed & a pocket full of presidents unprecedented  collection for this young deadhead… dragging my words across this continent… in hopes you can see the paper trail left by this hand. & yet here I am again… eastward bound just packages on my doorstep with a return address to where you can be found… this country is so small my heart is so large just occupy my mind in the way you do so well… I’ll manifest the rest… or leave this song in my intestines until these aggressive tactics become irrelevant & we, again end up in the same settlement… my love is the elephant in the room.

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MY OPEN EYES

“I got to go to Dallas!” said my former lover from the suburbs the ones I grew up in the ones that were 30 minutes away from Kennedy’s final breath an X marking the drive we used to take smoking blunts the whole way. The good ol’ days, or before people started dying, anyway… I thought about what she said, the excitement falling out of her head A thirty minute trip to the big city… where there is homeless and much prettier humans than the ones in Haltom. I used to wake up in different cities… big ones too underneath underpasses in Baltimore, Atlanta… not that this made me cool, just added perspective to what it is I do. loose lips sink ships, and I’m in the business of telling how it is spinning words into sentences paragraphs, 20


chapters… end to end. in certain instances I feel wrong about this grave I’ve dug the one that forces me to meet new loved ones to cherish older ones lumber through corridors wording every move even if my family fears my doom it’s still nice to be the quietest in the room to loop instances in and out of your dome find the reason you roam then zoom get into your zone and grow into the ONE that YOU have always hoped to become. “Thats beautiful!” I said I hope your time is spent with your heart in your hand, showing the big world you still haven’t given in… reproving to yourself that you can be all you can be. she slid her hand up the backside of me, twisting my hair tightly grasping my arms, which in her hands resembled pillars of ivory and inside of me I felt a quiet party this heart my mind

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aligned and coinciding we shine OUR light guiding each others next moves. she is GOD I am too. Ironically, so are you. loose lips drink gin, lovely‌ especially on these sunny afternoons‌

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SAYONaRA

I ain’t got no fuckin friends only brothers, partners & women some sisters… most of them one night glances that become stanzas in my next one. fathom me being a phantom ghost on either coasts for income slander my good name in hopes of a better one mouth comparable to a Gatling gun fresh to death zombie club years spun so I still talk like I am GOD dump & run…squawk like I parlayed then went yak on a knuckle ball. sippin yak while I’m steaming blunts blue dreaming about reason & logic like I was Mr.Spock spooky, how shocking it is to me that I keep it 100 % organic, no bi-products… so rough and tumble I rumble through city streets, 23


armed with nothing but 40z and stories mumble glory from the fourth story wake up on the floor still high from the brownies I ate the night before warning. I’m afraid I’m getting used to this… more so… I think I’m getting pissed hungry like a rhinoceros in the final days of the apocalypse I have spit nothing but relentless sentences in hopes that it ministers to these kids who only worship dividends my limbic system is aligned with my pineal gland and the bumblebees fill the blue skies until the sun is dimmed and we huddle close as the planet burns. now on to other worlds

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JAMES HARDEN I feel like James Harden a battle tested veteran that’s been slept on since inception 6th man of the year into scoring champion without a hint of regression. It’s a blessing to be the ballers’ favorite baller starting for my new hometown’s team or 12th man whatever I need to be. I feel like Darryl Dawkins shattering back boards with ease. All the thunder I put into these words counterpunches with lightning confronting the most frightening fact about me I’ll rocket to the stars the first chance I see. a regular triple double machine

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13:47 I’d make a bet that you’d love me but I generally only speak to myself so I’d get all the money. dreams come rushing with truth like the mountains I’m rumbling through tumbling over constantly sober, in part II of this IV act play with no interludes. IV’s had me set for days & along with all the sweat came shortcomings of fame that I had never intended, nor never thought over… I just want to grow older that’s the only sobering reality I can roll over in this mind but what’s mine is yours in a sense so what’s time when we’re limitless? the acid trips ended… and the spiritual ones ensued now all I can think about is how most of these kids are willing to DIE for the truth. when it’s written on the eyelids that shut every morning night

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& afternoon. only you can salvage what you have strewn my favorite instances are when the sun is covered by the moon.

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CCC

thrashed sentence fragments. attractive fashions for passionate factions brains like magnets we looked for care in the craft emphatically tragic travesties like anticlimactic revelry quite arbitrary happenings if you ask me. godspeed us to sea. fact is the only tricks I know are profanity capturing the inner workings of humanity each aspect I hold dear to me. clearly, my head is in the trees

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NAPKIN POEM the blinds are tussling for position light gleams it’s almost like a gimmick the way the brilliance is mimicked tripping faithfully in the backwoods of maine. decades… stained brain waves crusted over with dried out pieces of sweet talking her smell is my cologne I wash bad dreams out with hints of knowledge knowing nothing talking about throwing the money into the furnace to stay warm boring chores of reliving stories every moment is a couple seconds reborn but of course it shouldn’t mean much more so than not it does define the world.

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TO LOVE with no keyboard I type classics in my brain there are masterpieces when I shut my eyes I reach her when my mind is wide & open… and she is the one thought in which I reside. I tirelessly write her name in between every adjective, stanza and metaphor in hopes she can feel every morsel of my love passion soul. low are the tides when the moonbeams strike she knows her & I. but she never says a word.. they’re just smiles reflected by the sunlight traveling down, into and through this empty head… with only space lightning bolts dead

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and all I learned was one million separate ways to reference the metropolitan epa center of australia clearly It’s in my destiny for beautiful things to generate‌ even if it’s a handful of times. From dusk at sunrise. I choose to not say much of anything

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OUR LAST DAYS AS CHILDREN wonder what will happen through these last days as children will it simply be a mindstate of visitation or forever given days of jubilation? can I mediate through this planet of rhombus & prisms or is this all what I make of it. quantum physics tall statues and tv dinners deliverance of flashing lights sounds & colors forever touched deep by the scent of fresh flowers old railways & ghost towns. radio towers which share my darkest memories and the memorabilia that reminds me of her singularity trails of depth in a chamber of trust forever commemorated and hung here on a wall from which time moves through

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and love is true to. splashes of color paint a story of such, one of heartbreak timing victory & lust. I hope you can trust in me as much as I trust in us we were born as titans much greater than the gods.

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at the center of a universe worked over mornings so loose she too believed life was a garden it smelled like honey as the sun bloomed her glass eyes sparkled like gems as we sat around digital light indian style‌ puffing cannabis out of gravity devices we spoke of what we speak as truths. my soul settled the rain collected and wrestled upon the window lips cold cut by space heaters soundtracked by leaves and wind infused I need another moment beside her Winter smoke defrosts through our warm affectionate tones there are so many things I wish I could sing so many pictures in our small time line I’m intrigued by I sewed my soul back together in a transparent wishing well smiling like rivals engaged in mutual scorn sparring the days like chess pieces they play

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I only pray when I sleep she sits at the top of the pyramid temple on the river of technicolor my constant dreamscape the sun is a giant diamond that shoots prisms of light over dark forest shrubbery at the bottom of a sprawling major metro thoroughfare in between the dancing skeletons and rose bushes I have built a cottage there stain glass windows & acres of cannabis.

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LAWYERS FIRST trade winds blowin i think the eastern sea board’s done with me for the moment first pittsburgh, convoluted? Quite. But heads need to converse over army of darkness and menthol cigarettes faygo and mario kart 64… fuck that double dash. i’ve been in a bubble hash coma stressin about livin when all i need to remind myself is i’m 500 miles out of every major city modes of transportation are at my disposal and i’m delivered thank you GOD for lettin this sinner sin and after dinner, which will be the best one i’ve had all year lawyers first… politicians second

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:)

These pirate missions are getting old i’m drinking beers in the kitchen with all the best friends i’ve never known i see them come home… tired and underestimating the gravity of their manifestation and the weight of the world. i do too, but i keep pushing through alleyways and dark streets lined by the moon death and gloom appropriates its stance… blank faces… long drives i’m standing on the clouds dancing naked with billions of beautiful women i’m not winning, nor am i lucky i am in control of my own destiny. i am a lion treading this sea wide eyed we make our way through these athens nights those columbus days these charlottesville dusks all in a denver mindstate huddled by the fire of a bic and warmed by a bottle of reserve crown a bullet through the temple of rewards 38


i’ve been poorer when i could afford the world i’ve never been as rich as i am now i give my love to the source and to the mountains of course and to my certified interpretive guide whose name is not important at the moment

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HMBOV prayer even on such a rainy rocky mountain day. cigarette smoke plays along the sharpie covered wall that should have given us all a clue colonel mustard in the bathroom… he broke up lines and kept his hash in spoons risk straight across the interstates he looked like a strung out junky monkey buffoon his cheeks as red as the ass of a baboon manifesting something far more damaging than doom spending these thin aired days in a jungle of zoos booze doesn’t even phase me anymore, i pour my drink to my dead homies from the 3rd coast seaboard i’ve been killed reborn but still i live on oxygen and L’s of hard star crossed lovers in a gasoline douched barn we set the fire to hear the hollers for love is valor staring down the face of time to a mirror of grave robbing Of God of a consumer based economy built 40


on moral commandments that prolong the inevitable drop of world power all stars supernova of electrical sockets that send neutrons into ping pong showers in meteor hours cigarette butts and bong rips to cheer the less than living souls the train hoppers who beat lovers’ beaus with socks full of padlocks smileys for a mouth full of gold mold on the interior of the treasure chest kept collected, abstinent from sexual commitment i query to the whereabouts of her kinfolk sounds of ammunition sliding and slithering into the barrels of what supplies her kitchen give me a hint so i tramp right up and ask her papi for her hand i’ll be goddamned if i didn’t get beat half to death by her ten brothers full grown men wedding bells play in my head i just assumed i’d died as i fell asleep every night with her in my third eye but this time..

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ADDICTION i have this addiction, it inhibits free thought process. one track minded and absent to all logic. raunchy late night attacks, that leave me crippled clutching my thorax hyperventilating into a paper bag until i collapse. You may ask yourself, “does this boy need help?”,”is there anything I can do?” “how has he been trapped in this hell of nightly pains and solitude? is there a clinic he can be taken to?” meanwhile, at the emergency room The doctor walks in to speak to my parents, who subsequently shoo me out, he asks a nurse to assist me to an empty waiting booth with magazines and a boob tube. They emerge, and i’ll never forget that upset look in my mother’s heart, the disappointment hanging on my father’s upside down smile. i’m shaking and feel a relapse cultivating i jet out to the street as they, and the DR. are approaching. Sprinting, and cutting through the intersection wild eyed and running on empty.

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i get struck in a hit and run, clutching my broken arm as i tumble down the road barely visualizing the sign as i stumble into a restaurant i sit down at smashburger and the waitress comes up “oh honey, are you ok?! do we need to call an ambulance? do you need anything?” i raise my head in a cocked position “I’ll take your largest cheeseburger, with everything!” see everyone has an addiction.

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OUR SWINGSET: A SPACESHIP

“writer” lacking words or young adults who know how to bend time and space for primitive brain self-exploration a collected unconscious effort, sabotaging jurassic hearts to poured chalices i have been frozen in thine eyesight. in every sense, my Juliet/ Harlequin star crossed lover who has no trouble about falling into it. minutes. It’s not often you look your lover over centuries in the iris i have seen this. at one time we were both cats underneath a blanket of stars\ now we telepathically lay out land mines to blow apart each others’ wants, though like a double helix we twist passionately until we find we’re at a zenith of needs for the heart and if this love is so consequential then let the world

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stop i’ve never understood GOD until she and i laughed for hours about… nothing… the something… was so far from the mind it found oblivion in our courage i woke up drenched in her jacket like it was christmas morning, she skipped her classes for coffee. i skipped with her for hot chocolate we shared chairs and told each other what disgusted us which wasn’t much but my vices that kept me relatively sane and sober even after Dark Star tour was over.. closure is something i’ve always been a fool over i’ve never mustered up courage to say goodbye to her… even now my eyes well up when I think about the world how disgustingly large it can seem but in comparison... there’s nothing that can make me feel more light hearted than a note on a computer screen that simply read: anything.

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"THEN HE JUST PUNCHED THE MICROPHONE!" alone in a crowded hallway standing shoulder to shoulder zig zaggin through doorways spillway on the floor glorifying the poor old soul who dropped his change just before i whispered “can i pick it up?” he replied “may I.” i stood at the firing line… bored.... it’s ok, it really is i want my grassroots princess and enough farm to land chickens goats ammunition. there’s no real way to describe my patriotism, this sickening feeling my computer goes blue screen relief is not a recent feeling.. speedway, roadway, bus line, transfer, transfer, plane, boat, car, boxcar, transfer, ambulance, wheelchair, transfer mouth full of milk.

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EACH Bishop. Cable. the only risk was Apocalypse who can argue with that? gaff structures built on statues of pharaohs past worship done with psychotropic paths not necessarily meant for those who don’t want to understand each has questions each have answers. class acts all around the room with wooing words of wisdom peppered in fractiles for some reason I didn’t trust everyone but I listened and simmered smashed more moonshine now down through the jack rabbit crevice. antlers sprout out of this mouth I used to use to slaughter those old fashioned friends unfrightened of a sonic bloom unaware more so. Big stares from full glares as bright as a new moon slewed words, large women with gargantuan glittery brains brews splashing as we toast to the ghosts we prayed haunted us to this day. 47


long walks in hill country brush warms this lone soul to the lost art of being alone truly and fully enjoying oneself they’re about the only ones who stick around besides the fading light of the nebulas. i’ve traveled too far to have this dagger in my pocket but to trust no one is to be lacking in humility regardless of these dagger teeth thy eyes dream! thine brain seeks.

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BABY Chamber of boom love in the after-gloom a sky full of thunder mouth full of rounded out sentences mentioning foregone conclusions of gore and depravity my heart is negatively influenced by these rooms see that dip in the wall? thats where they pulled five bodies from their tomb their spirits embody students sleep easy duck down in the crawl space, baby

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ATHENS COUNTY WE! drank everclear, sunkist and pineapple juice smoked reds and viewed david lynch shorts we talked about future, our generation and our favorite cannabis at the moment (blue dream) smoked camel wides into the brisk ohio nights ATHENS the bar habit occurs to me… as we break into budweiser in the morning i’ve been writing all day… but nothing really of importance wendys, (other corporate name) these american days are the FUCKING same across the united states i’m irate as i swing back and view zach and lou they remind me why i love this life… why i live my time out for who? Austin’s on my mind? Seattle? i may be in Denver by sunday. i may be at the white house by morning protesting my education and well being up to this point 50


living off guadalupe in a co-op standing on 16th with “the end is near” scribbled on cardboard i’m so fucked in the head i NEED another joint (blue dream) i DON’T! want IT to become legal because i know the consequence… i know the outcome brother that’s when i wake, when the movie’s done one of the few hours of my life when I can become lumber i’m limber in the daylight full of mumbles exposing trouble rumbling with the tough and fucked up crowd of the winter eyes as wild as the carlsbad caverns my senses are keen as quiet as a coma loads of words i wish i had yelled into the deaf ears of yesterday ripe with the aromas of blood loss in the new millenium give me another key bump of whatever you’ve got cum later tonight in the whore you pretend is a lover bump fists with the guy you’ve been traveling with who wants to leave you at every rest stop.

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7&7: JOHN ELWAY’S FAYGO

tramadol baby doll with her hair golden white gentle thoughts as she catches sun rays by the pyre… stabilized but uncivilized, and her eyes smile as her lips pout with desire we shout but no words come out, just groans and quivers it sends a shiver at just how many dire consequences are frivolous an empty wallet with no markings in it, only folded ones with no license… or insurance… assurance that the hole in the heAd can mean one of two things; ALL OR NOTHING give it all for something. or you’ll be left without anything.

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FURTHeR i wrote your name with every lightning bolt and thunderous crackle from every storm that blew in over this pacific seaboard, from offshore this summer was spent in a perpetual haze, that has hastily given way to more serious things. If fangs you see, then i shall leave… every action by one’s self can’t be seen fully in their own depth… leaving the convinced, often in disbelief. death… it’s timeless and draining, most of the things we think do or say have us complaining, claiming to be trapped like mental slaves… so onto the drug stores… or back to the backwoods try to snag a bible and some tranquilizers, myself, just a nap but i am no different, if not so more lost… It’s hard to recover from a season abroad so the only options are giving up or going further.

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com trueism using bruises as excuses to prove useful to fail proof movements, however foolish it is I find I have the tendencies of a ruthless tyrant relentless and tirelessly spiked by all the amphetamines I mouthed off soundproof… compiled desires and all the quilting square is in my wallet that’s for my head don’t you dare go and knock it but goin broke is not an option the same as goin home to some. at least the preaching let some belief in, I hadn’t grown weary to ALL yet… yep… ALL the residents drank like it was the weekend and we spent… spun… the rest of the night in clear sin reprehensible actions deplorable with no spin. win-wins turned to nose goes dilatants to 55


hobos and as far as a stone’s throw the wind blows the IT’s known but never is IT shown/ like the calls weren’t enough we let the metal alloy rust until we weren’t partial… it was like waking up 2000 years from this present moment alone, with only a token of what once was. I think the triangles in the atmosphere signaled I was home or the heavy breathing… or when she looked into my soul… the next morning.

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“you are the poem of a city, my darling, and a rainbow inside of this hurricane.” My dream girl sleeps in another man’s bed dreaming about a man like me sweeping away the thoughts in her head. brought to life by the birds’ subtle singing please see me as I see three dimensional things rotating, spread thin & detailed in documentation broken apart > rehabilitated three stations of the cross… only one thought… lost to the crops. faux paux botox & cocaine nostrils bottled up emotions released at full throttle shots over plots to become dilatants it’s how these tastes become pleasure romps “…then I ate some acid and my ego died one night in a swampy marsh somewhere outside of Orlando…and I have let the universe pour out abundant 57


provisions on me… and I was calm.. I felt like I could see everything…”

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I dealt with it the miles, the mindless sales pitch and the onset of carpal tunnel syndrome melting. it’s best not to appear too forward scores of thoughts press on like riots, piloting in other words tripping the void. moist morning mixers where childhood dreams scream like robotic eagles as we tore down the machine from the inside… is it right? these were all good intentions once, ghost ship glows along the horizon… is it gone? we open our heads to the sounds of revelations, jubilation, tribulation, spineless tasteless, romantic symphonies in other words a sensory orgy glory as told by those who saw it. brushing it off from those who don’t My claws are in this vicious adaptation of cleanliness I’m covered in a checkered past laughing I can barely remember the past several concussions these bridges wrap me up and beg me to stay here it’s been a long time since last year ENDED.

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About the man: I'am William. Bios are pretentious. Fuck money,get stitches

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Galaxy (preview)