temple of lump in the dumpster of out

  

dingle wordsless  smoke dangling from lips of a cheilitic mind like statement jewellery  passes staltered ates and pauses

crazy hazy lazy daisys inside writing epitaphs on invisible napkins with a finger and grease on the tombstone of the table like a thick modesty on historys disfigured face

dingle doesnt blench but splatters in latrines of thinking in response to the discarding i discard and without much cytogenesis or knack enters

dingles on one of those putrescent perambulations  disutile scholar of decay  questing drools and stricken monosyllables from vermilion borders of the vatic underclass

and staltered ates is a dingles thing  temple of lump in the dumpster of out  puntee in faeried ponds of thujone hippuricacid and coppersalts and never once much ken of who the punter

daisy though in the inflorescence of its wounds eyes the lugubrious oratory as a fly in kukku eyes inanna and our digging through the veils is everlasting

to the gruntings of the scuttling clientele dingle grunts them back and grunt on grunt the grunted grow the grunters and daisy spies a dingle

two lovers senching around crypts of vocational interments  spurlos versenkt  round sebum echoes of coital muckings striking wagers of escalating grimace

but staltered atess eyed it all afore so as dingles pitched not a grunting gets misplaced and gruntings all and all thats left is the epitaph itself to push the day

i am gone

like cyanide

to read asoft

my epitaphs

i am gone

like epitaphs

to soft a sigh

and so i died