03 Em Bezelers

The Lunch. Love is a hunch

back notre


Beckons for a reckoning

but falls, still falls

into tar riven enthralls.

The goody body.

Sins, that undressed pail

belly of whale

freedom and flame.


animating in and out of

sensory faculty

frame —

A blaster

grafting of holy cabbage onto

logic of habits

and rabbits,

my sod wad driven plethora

of endlessness foiled

goyled royaled soiled

the insurrections of love

scaling to the middle

loopy and fingering.

Every inch wakes a gamble

spies a wretched flinch.

Sparks an avalanche

ponder wander plunder oh bait.

Skate bait slate flate

flag a date?

And off it falls

off the rails again

madness quails again

no no NO —

A gull goes tree ways

along the free ways

blinded by diktat

a range of guard in pinky’s lard

flog of hogs surmise the grift

impatient gods

head bed fed

riddles in deadly medly

shifts. Nobilating

a lures leaden staggering

holy cures. Shaking out

the burn forresters

budding sacred — filming blood.

Cleft commissions

interrogated weavers

emboldening fevers.

Screening are the intervening

the oceanic color of bad

dads and screaming moms. No easy go easy.

Costs make a bloody sauce

and pins the sun to its vigor.

Violets a moon

a blood red mud room

for catching what tips

and rips

across wires

for heavy loads smells

of wood thinner.

Martyrs stroke

fairies gather

holy thumbs assist

green and miner,

the red diviner.

Risen to a crisp.

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