By JD Nelson
That sour m—. THE SUBMARINE: Bag C. 10 gold-deaf laughing. Blue queue lawn. Unmachined bacon.
During the land meat. It’s excessively slow due to the magical diligence of the indigo.
The door of label [lu]: The destructive bottle of the original. Suns. Reduction of “T” for owls. Thus, if “T” – it was rather bad.
ARPA, which closes inside, copper-and-yield as transferred. A pig of the grammar is the sauce, hands.
<3 happy birthday, darlin
a tad obtuse and esoteric. don’t mind me though, I’m usually not into poems about symbolic logic (at least that’s what I think you’re going for here.)
“unmachined bacon” I don’t know what to make of that. There was something both annoying and endearing about this piece. I think that’s a good thing.
a nice nonsensical disheveled sensical poem,which i like very much.a multitude of states,occurances and gestes descends upon us.its grammar inside out.