back backyards in my house

she was all broken house, broken heel, just in love
and there, we called her .... Gina (why not?), mother, with tight
round ass behind that stained blue blouse. she fed me and clothed me and read
me fairy tales when i argued proust. that's alright
nothing to argue about. we were laying in the tub when
she turns to me, splashing all over my walls - a foam
sentence dragging down "let them go" not really much
of anything - she turns and says "my mother is the night.

right

crazy

then the drums from next door started
vibrating and i swear i heard an
elephant and all sorts of corporate ghetto lying about
who slept with who and how the main provider
had been screwed out of all his money by a
northener who knew too much about the south

aches and sores

the play park is empty but i still hear
the sharks out growing their parts
to one side and gold teeth and malaysian
throwing stars and constellations
explained by lackluster imaginations.

just as the table disappears under me
just underneath my high pitched squeal
just as my back meets concrete porch
just as all the adults disturb the country court
i am beautiful

and galaga steals my quarter

My long lost friend the stranded chemical other

Most of these villains are not my enemies. I hold them close and hard and inbetween. We tear to see the other leave and then..

The Decemberists - the mariner's song
Lavender Diamond - you broke my heart
Jens Lekman - a sweet summer's night on hammer hill
Iggy Pop - shake appeal
Os Mutantes - baby (1971)
Miles Davis - it never entered my mind
Tom Waits - how it's going to end
Neutral Milk Hotel - oh comely

Just last night i had again that dream where the shadow goes skipping and i refuse to run after and at the last second she turns but all i see are her chattering teeth. I'm sure all these things i don't know now i'll learn during that short roadside pee just before severe winter weather exposured death comes and lays, mouth of morning breath, roughly on me. All the creator's edible memories falling rotten from all of the creator's everything so don't play when you want to sing while you wait for that ghastly wing, one half the heart, of life's medicine (meta scene).

midnight bullshit
thank you
thank you
i'm here all week
tip your waiter
he has dreams too

My new name is stumblos and you, my paid for, exotic lip misser , are now my brass headed cane. Get used to it.

You sure make funny faces - says Miguel Ealon standing up from his kneeling and lowering the flame – why if I didn’t know better I’d think you was playing with me.

Ow. No. No. Not me.

If we get out of this one I’ll owe you a mended love letter and a crocodile’s life.
You. I’m talking to you.

Telepathy. A language only parents and children hear. Well, incest on a rotten tree has gotten me a sister for an assistant and best friend. Rebecca. She with the blood-breaded lips believes me when I scream, “hit the deck!”

When the smoke clears, the wall is gone and my black boxed recording mechanical guard chokes Sir Ealon and his southern raised blokes.

It all rhymes but I’m still left staring through rainy day windows while my love floats trapped in that villain’s machine. Rebecca.

Ringggggg and the phone.

Hello.

Brian Eno calling.

Really?

Derrrrr NO! It’s me, Patrician Stone.

Bless my soul. The Gravity Queen.

The sky starts to snow.

Hordes of toys claw over my lawn smelling of talcum powder and Russian soap.

Neglecto gun is out of gas but still the sparks of the ice skating manikin chummy in full body cast goes off and we all melt in the fire.

I’m lost.

Rebecca’s far away voice “Alone at last."