Gauge turns over so a proper labor of pure love drops from a high sky to land on a small body and crush the last late birthday of ruin into the foreclosure of his house. Now, squat in his damages. Take a nap here, with the floor, with Slater the stray who eats pizza. Leave dumpsters, the vegetable pie, just walk out into the front of the house and flip off the water bureau, stick tools into the open ground, swing by the Orchid plants. Pet, and think how Orchids die in this climate. Watch the two purple saved from wilt in the attic. A wish is running water. A tool, an old crowbar made to turn, manually, and to locate the strange that fits around, the turn. Wash in a water of hands, just tools

All the notices to our eviction they keep sending to the dead flies through slow smoke, curled in an outside, where of the attic door is summer. Ever pattern of steps in the living room. A time to roll an old smoke hand Now nobody's alone, everyone with their Drum. Gauge turns a loop, random talk circles through the collective bad noise on the radio, curled to lungs. Of dreams, girl wigs on old houses, with silence

The sounds truck the front door. Slater weaves, in a wilted garden, attacking wilted cabbage, runs corn over on one side. He paws at the shade, stuffing his head into his drifting sleep. Think about the downstairs to get our show out and dumpstered, also brushes and rollers in a pan. Do that, paint green for the show- For the kids. Our friend Steve Pascan does today, we all decide on the color. Odd decapitation, he sews dolls heads on, after painting them white, on the boards. He said he wanted wallpaper for the show, the right stuff, floral and Christmas time Swinging fly swatter in this terrible cigarette all at once. Maybe leave the attic, ears, spine, making camo' out of tissue - making phalanges into spinal fluid - green - all around air

Dissolve, feel safest in everybody else, just feel safe anywhere, like our house. True, we sort our house, but really - god damned banks! Think, it's either Bank of America who owns Laser eyes and gauge strangulation turning rotting couch inside out - now lungs exposed to carpet - peach fuzz grows mind, out matrix of skewed stencils over laser eyes and rotting couch, coughing up a cocoon of thought.

Membranes moving at the speed of light come crashing through the windows - (((jungle))) - loose - every loose, spilling from guts of house into pocket - ((jungle)) - now forehead feels it, never there. Palm, a baby hawk, talons in tendrils that tease secrets of the universe out, in the sail boat - Friday boat - the swelling foot prints, along the road become a door in rich barn and shouting for someone to wake up - brackets come over sleep, over shadow. The sun vanishes, stirring housed souls among a shapeless drink demon - filled with a sound that uttered - hot life in cold stains - ice in a royal headache - strange, a handshake with light. A bear -  a ton of tongues that light noises in head, and shatter dream form into focus near the tent. In the dessert - must be blood howling at night - must be heart pounding the time -

The reason furniture is in mirrors - Think disappear today and fall into the Thai food, scour the restaurants for ice cream sandwiches - Invert the atmosphere, or shape shift, via weather matrix. No one forms like underwear and flies in times outfit -

House bank, come and tell all of his damages, tearing space/time, and bushes - must just walk found typewriter three years terror - Lord full of sleeping bags and figure eights