And Beckett Was In Love With His Cousin

And Beckett Was In Love With His Cousin

I am am wannabe,

A hetrosexual pro-ho,

Over friendly, and wet pussied sentimental, vape binkie video-star groupie, just waiting back near the Clydesdale-ing chink of tour bus,

I have gotten bank advice from Duane Peters at a Warped Tour (true story),

I wrote mini logo novela about a fictional part time darkman Telly Savalas Edo period style political harem that took place in a post historical 1970's Las Vegas swingers mind control trip freak out pseudo space.

I am the not knowing the situation fully facetious dignity of it all, an aardvarking anteater still slurping up figurative termite Kalis State Penn plaids,

And including all the corn flake pale wet acne that went with it all,

And Kalis was always mentioning Cady Noland back then—or the Seek Cady Nolan graphic at least, the cancel white dots hovering over silver sheen hand silkscreen'd thin high contrast figurative image Patty Hearst iconography, or if it wasn't Patty Hearst it was someone else,

Kalis always said it was too Baldessari though, but he didn't care, or actually that's what he kind of liked about it,

As Milpitas millipede daisy chain rowed of razor scooter bulldozers, razor bulldoze insides up love sick slick slop down the torso bloody telegram onto here to now throw this though, 

As one goes trying to always say anyways, 

I'm lower lower middle class poverty of mind—

A sometimes godless Ken Park somewhere on the vale side of the grocery highway somewhere outside San Clemente, 

Worse than any secularized historical vacuum DIY you could ever think about,  

I am winded limited remnant far down aloft the Tammerlane, sleeping next to X by her polite cheerily insistence enforced feet to face flip just-friend moves.

I clip rebates,

I clip sunk cost drown down rollercoastering centipeded velocity fueled love sick write off funded promo supplement, 

Pink eye'd and red dragon shackle-me eye'd,

Tee vee eye clipped, 

Bellowing licksplittles blithely filling the her play it as it lays croft of knowing hand, 

As misbegotten, misguided revelry of the word in the truest sense,

And aloft off the hanging monitor recap coming too soon back down the planking rollercoaster platform then, and I'm the fitting of that into another promiscuous orgy toy edit.

Like a leaf in a brook, I'm out here on a limby, and Worringer's 'insipid optimism',

Hopeless and miserable, from the shock of lust immediately known to be looming unfulfilled existential stress which vaguely seems to be connected to some death or just death, from all the feathered Penthouse Pet retrosex lingerie or 700 jeans denim tears of it all, that I felt even as a child.

In curve house off down wending meadow lake hill terraces with loop spitting water glitch air sculptures, 

Or in my hometown where they outsource Carlos Ribeiro local shop pros now, who skate like baseball pitcher,

Always in such measure, round and about, little by little, and deceptively only very slightly mind fuck promising, you still remain designation proofed, un-namable,

You always simply stay un-knowable, like the scaling distinction somewhere between antidote and cash poor remedy.

You, the the sick heuristic magical gaggling thinking misread of it all,

You are the eternal fuckable cousin.