Where e is called the spherical excess a pall of media is always not even enough to say something justice like they love pickled cabbage on a bagel or something taller THEY LOVE THAT GOD IS BLACK we love playing west coast shit in the backs of school buses on the way to Magic Mountain one white kid named Jared is with it too one laughter is too many chickens in Dave’s last day on set too many dead birds on set too many onslaughts of secular mercy too many Marcy Projects reciting but not Jay Z types I’ll fight a clone but then what? There’s genetics in every tension a fantasy in every release revenge is just panic panic just that this isn’t mount Fuji yet
make the next mountain a sinner with no rails
make the next mountain a sinner with no rails
I suspect we’re being quarantined and beamed up on double crosses I suspect we love Jesus and don’t even claim him or have the sense to clone him suspicion makes me laugh and dip the thigh in batter
Where the growl of oil in mouths captivates empowers
the earth spills some more into a quarry Quarantine Josephine Persephone whatever the mania of clarity can occupy without killing
