off n.tryon wholesale (he) -------- maybe dreadded men are right about final years he don't have faith in calendars the damage within is a trailer to the nicknames he goes by, that hardly define was on the screened in debate club's nicotine quarters demanding absolutes from God and if.. then spontanious, free will never was more co-dependant he wouldn't uncloak his vices for any love would have to accept lust and fleetings conversations that were burn-outs poetic girls only connected at electrons and maybe she has a spare bedroom and would hide the honda in the leeds let him hide sufferings in a single soul which hasn't been pinpointed in all Science's years Holidaic dysfunctions declaring special days wine-stained wallpapers a knife hidden in Last Supper paint crackings victims lost sadspastic in routine amerika words trailing on incoherant, repeating bar funerals mute poets mute dogs doing best at the microphone if he hadn't, he was Neworleans, big easy ride quarters at wholesale stores pinpointing that feel which is always displayed wrong you're treading on astroturf rantings, so maybe remove sandals if burning and if burning then sell while his economy capitolizes on operations east the poet foams easily apon unnuclear soil the most normal fish in "Am Always With You's" creation unwarranted the poet, he foams even selling at explainations highest price selling drunk for better words like, viced choiced, and post-moderned x's effected, affected was lost in a theater's 24th row and 40'd "living at the movies" props, and humpty moments she said was only resorted to when in moments needed for clarity he bought the first round at the quarter machine 2nd was glimmering metrodomes away in the southern park in warm cash neighborhoods tucks that swallow souls and spit blue eyed computers wastefully a calendar in void a graveyard of cokkacola bottles in his backseat sometimes epitaphs read for fun for moment's dedications once he dedicated his first spoken poem to a homeless boy on seventh ave. while he bought him a beer, a Beck's, if unmistaken read through the nicotine apparitions like critics read through his pulse like torn out cornias read through New York like a whore he knows he didn't catch that 7:15 and so he bought rounds for Destiny he bought cliches' at clearance he nicknamed himself only in the shower pained foreward on tiles like brokeness and liquids that singed on matter un-mattering his permanent ink shouldered like naked bat-symbol for fools, and card-holders sometimes rockbottom poets his graveyard updated to plastic an icetray filled frozen correct fish to unclog the pipes in a borrowed couch in a weathered bed which is the same these moments foams occured while seated backseat immobile in his (my) cemetery when nakedness happens once you sell, you capitolize