1. |
iMinus
08:38
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wut u got
that can hit the spot
a my not
givin a shit
bout wut u got?
my petaloid scrips
ovoid liaison
with suasion
that trips round
the supersedural afterdamp
of mechanical stupor siezure
giving residence
beyond reticence
to the surround bound
irenicon benefactor
whose corresponding throngs
of catalytic co-existence
ooze choral fronding
sexagons that
enlarge the discharge
of cowardice done
up as critiquing
to speaking from the
smash up
so u can surpass
yr nichehunt,
i.e. the bout we in's out
once u shake
yr tiny worthquake
n get comfy
with the spins
a my inverst humvee.
i'm so radically peaceful
i hereby decree
the haddock be released
full into yr skull
so u can testify
agenst yr cavalier
n feel the onslaught
yr reel-n-yawn wrought
hookin shad with dad.
water envies me
my anti-clotter alacrity.
i'm a bridge to flow wear.
i'm a ridge wence rings
the navaho prayer
that the springs
of laval insipience
might gush redolent
in lush enbabblement
n morph a schist
a green between
the fist n the fite.
my hindsight is
a kind light
that shines the future
on wut u were
n lets u sit back
n enjoy
the signs that
all along yr groove's
throned to deploy
yr bawl song
so u cd quit wack
n bong an
improvier behoove
to glim that then again
yr been's has been.
i'm 360 degrees
a mixt free
midst the words n the trees.
my vietnam war
is yr be it no more.
i say the grilled vagina
of the prophet shd
get off it
n find a spillway to wet
that the pack
may catch a buzz
from my backway scratcher
cuz...
i'm a genus, bb,
of lastronomical proportions,
n my penis lady
is so inane she cannot be recorded.
i got so much nuthin,
i shan't be dyin on the vyin.
my bedraggled luvin's
too ramifyin to defyin.
my rhyme's so complicalculated
it's gonna take
a million venerated monkeys
banging on a billion
clunky catafalques
at the leading trillion
scattered shrines
of cabala gone pro
to bleed the skillions
of convo-looted clatter
out its uprooted a-regimen.
like, i'm the sole denizen
of never been
so good lucky
suckin the edgy allude
out my oblique crasserole.
i applaud yr efforts
even as i slap yr gods
with deaf words.
it's not that i'm cruel,
it's just i must die
in every letter
to end the shot rule
of the tentative abettor.
so let's go.
pet my crow
n we'll separate
the spill from the nosey
til our stride
reparates the countryside.
go on, foe fawn.
come closer n i'll
shed my minerva syndrome
onto yr quarrelsome otioser.
my kidskin'll
serve ya
bred n wonder
til u foam at the crouch.
alwz keepin it simple:
a litl rippl
seepin out
the rainfall maze
is all i need
to call my scrum seed
to sprout
some middle spittle.
ain't shit git
in my way
cuz i flit like
a ricochet
of tra la la
off the cha cha cha
a my tremolo mama.
wut belongings?
my girl's got
three thongs
for excessive night-errandry
n a recessive pair
a merle wings
(n i barely got her
cuz "where we?" is hotter)
n anything more
than that'd
render my fatuity
troubadour trite distracted.
ethnically, i'm a poplar,
but drop a doppler
on my fine fettle
of thermogenetic
subdivine
n u'll find traces
of the faces
of the unsettled
murmur club
that intermarried
over endless harried
winters with
their own outlying
watermelons
that generated
regurgitating beatifying
roustabouts,
hellions n squatters
into the fruit bat
dramaturge at the
center of my
tormenter preventer
that waylays
the trauma of
the newest
as it plays
with the clutch cat,
both em rollin thru
my geranium soul broth,
such that...
to my gratisfaction
run the gizzards of the lorelorn
(forcefed the porcupines of war porn).
n my swiss miss black son
is gayer than the frizzy canard
u were mournin born in
(yet can't stop stormin like its dentiformin).
in the set of show sets
there ain't one i wdn't finger
(O the jasmin squashes i shall sling her!).
keep yr little red core sense,
i'm here n now to let my nowhere linger
(conqueress, may i untress thy blandishing ur?).
i stik the rhyme
in the occiput
n mix it all up
n i kik the time
in the subtle butt
n trix it all up
n i lik the slime
off the funky strut
n slix it all up
til u fix yr spine
to my loco nut
n we pix it all up
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2. |
Lazy Fair
03:39
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i don’t have the time
i can’t find my mind
i just misst the sign
everything is fine
i’m not made to shine
a line’s a line’s a line
beware the other side
tomorrow will be kind
so she sed
now she’s legally dead
it’s soft inside the snub you’ve never felt
the greatest danger is the cry for help
it’s their right to choose
someone’s got to lose
who’m i to accuse
it’s just a litl bruise
they’ve a good excuse
it’s not per se abuse
once it’s on the news
things will then improve
so he sed
as they drilled thru his head
illusion lends at interest to itself
conviction sleeps upon a crooked shelf
lazy fair
layin there
unaware
ordinaire
past repair
lazy fair
don’t u fuck with me
so what u disagree
i’m all that i can be
yr far as i can see
my code’s autonomy
pride and privacy
violence hides in we
love is slavery
so he sed
all alone in his bed
lazy fair
layin there
unaware
nillionaire
easy scare
lazy fair
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3. |
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She smells some elemental sadness in the wires,
Unknown restrictions on conflictual desires,
Selling securities in fenced-in wild fires,
Yet still she makes it thru the day.
Promise me
You won’t keep your word;
Honesty
Is what’s overheard.
Take it back
If it’s all you meant;
The thing you lack
Is the only thing you’ll ever get.
As her entanglements adoring deliquesce
Paternal waters into all she can’t possess,
She floats her sorrows down a love-sick SOS,
Yet still she never has to pay.
Laughing with
Is laughing at.
Motherwit’s
A technocrat.
People dance
Cuz they can’t let go;
Your only chance
Is the only chance you’re gonna blow.
Stuck on the letter
Stuck in the shredder
She’s addicted
To conflicted
Aid-and-abettors.
Crazed with discretion
Crazed by profession
Of unstable
Love unable
She’s her obsession.
Lockt in her breathing room of gainful injury
She hones projection on first-person third degree
Full knowing nothing comes of letting nothing be,
Yet still she says it’s all okay.
Suicide
Is the last hurrah;
Life’s a cry
In a camera.
Where you’ve been
Is the place to be;
The show you’re in
Is the only show you’ll never see.
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4. |
Ah Summer in the Apps
05:50
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so i went to the bank of yummy,
n they didn’t approve me for anything,
so i went to the bank of yummy,
n they quikly approved me for everything,
so now i’m a dangerous, passive slut,
but i miss the time before the deth of my scent;
it’s not that i’m attacht to boiling up,
i just crave an harmonious punishment.
any port
in a storm.
i’m so crazy about my holes.
this here’s wut i’d say if i had a movement
in the age of collective estrangement:
i’m the new blak power commando,
n i enjoy the drama of being sand, yo.
cuz ain’t we all in the hospital
under someone else’s name,
dying to be stowed
in the beaker of the bellowing brain?
watch me sleep dance
til i get financed.
thx, bb, but i’d rather take yr time.
dear ded dad,
can i be yr ad?
cuz i’m so overwhelmed by my need to be in decline.
i almost
broke the mold,
then i felt so bad, i broke the mold.
O pounded beautiful ass to mouth machine,
i’m singin to u like the litter to the rain:
“it’s cool my breth makes u sick cuz u can’t make it stink,
but if u won’t suk on my dik, don’t suk on my drink.”
i want my mom
to pet my bomb.
i’m a fatal mess in reverse.
Ah, summer in the apps.
i blank on yr face as i fill in yr lap.
my conscience is so clear it’s not even there.
wut about my access to yr wheel chair?
life’s an idea whose time has cum
so don’t look now;
it’s no way all over agen
for the chicken with its hed stuk on a cow.
it all depends
on oxygen
from the cavern of the unemployed onslaught of dirty triks.
sho me mine,
i’ll sho u thine,
then get the fuk outta my kid cuz it’s just for kiks.
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5. |
Learning Man
04:05
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simon dramatized the crime
simon mechanized the climb
simon monetized the dime
n it wasn’t long ‘fore he turned into a sign
a sign that blared against the tide
a sign that always took a side
a sign that held us to the tried
n it wasn’t long ‘fore it turned into a ride
all alone at the bottom of the mine
far from home at the bottom of his mind,
down we slide, like vomit down a vine,
diving for the slime that we malign
reach my heart thru yr eye
find yr eye in my spine
build my spine from the back of the line
n i’ll be yrs wen u die
ya, u kill it in yr shows
ya, u shoot around the cones
ya, u never feel exposed
so it’s only right that u turned into a code
all the rage in the middle of the phone
half yr age in the middle of yr clone,
round u go, like a badger in a bowl,
digging for the bridge so u can troll
yr so fresh out the can
sorta trans on instagram
such a fierce, tortured sexpian
lying true to yr simon
watch me blow away the field
watch me scroll beyond the deal
watch me role into the reel
yo, it won’t be long ‘fore i learn into a wheel
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6. |
Smallpox Season
04:42
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All thru the septic splendor
New burgeons death reborn,
Sweet spawn of nature’s terror,
Weaving life fresh forlorn.
It’s springtime for the virus,
Green grows the fetid flesh,
Runs warm the rill infectious
Down mounds of misbegets.
You know we gotta find a way
To make it thru yesterday,
To compose our disarray
And grow thru our woe.
I hear her cystic singing,
I smell her scabs in bloom,
I see her vectors winging
Thru the glowing scarlet gloom.
In ripe organic vengeance
Her pristine murder glee
Spreads fertile seeds of pest’lence,
Like a rabid chimpanzee.
You know we got a cameo
In the future scenario,
In the no-show video
Where you preview you.
As crooling infants perish,
Their lives half full of empty,
Each microbe rewrites genesis
To read “There first was Me.”
And in the shrugging silence
Round the pile purulent,
The victims of our negligence
Some new disease ferment.
You know we gotta take a stand,
Raise a hand against a hand,
So to finally understand
Why we can’t be free.
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7. |
Lifeline
04:28
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no one notices yr entrance
no one takes u for a presence
no one listens wen yr talking
no one likes it wen yr laffing
no one wants u in thr commune
no one asks to see yr bedroom
all u want
is to be someone else
someone not
so unfukt n featureless
yr no fun
put yr paints away
yr so dumb
have an endless day
u did wut u did, but no one came
yr not in the running, n yr to blame
u gave it yr best, n it was lame
go take a walk to no acclaim
the house is gone
the stage is struck
will u ever get up?
go on home
to yr lonely rut
n cry into
yr empty cut
put it away
put it away
all that u say
just put it away
wut can u do
wen yr last in the lifeline?
it’s the chance of a lifetime
to find a reason to live
wen ther’s no reason for u.
look at her luv
wrecking resorts down the shoreline
look at her luv
she rips a reason to live
from out the reason for u
try lookin at wer yr lookin
straining neks r made for crookin
ther is purpose for the taking
in the lite that brings yr waking
it is saying sumthing to u
so bewildering to so few: i’m home.
so yr tough
n have a lot to say.
but wut r u of?
who brought you today?
she is luv
she is a wonder drug
take her home
there’s a chest in the subnude
wer ya never go
n it beats for the plenitude
that u wanna noe
lay yr hed on its instead
n listen real low
n u’ll hear so clear
y ther ain’t no alone
giv yr pants to the singer man
n his resonance correlative
make u spring an am
so restorative
cuz the wind can’t break
wut u build wen it’s windy
n u’ll dig wut yr holed in
cuz yr rollin with the everybody.
wut u want
with yr exhaust in front
lookin thru sum didact
like an eye thru a contact
smudged with the shit
yr omits emit
u don’t need wut u got
if it just gets u caught
so lemme offer u
a boff with a breakthru
put u in the mind
to be crucial to a better clime
if u wanna celebrate
wut u can’t keep straight
give thx to the wind
for wut yr spins liberate
u r the way
so get outta the way
i am the way
so get in my way
wut will u do
now yr first in the lifeline?
it’s the chance of a lifetime
to show that the reason to live
is the reason for u.
feel yr entrance
scape yr presence
luv yr laffing
free yr sharing
talk to listen
sleep with transition
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8. |
O To Be Beautiful
04:37
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How tortured are the beautiful
By all they cannot be,
For tho we eat them with our eyes
They starve on what we see,
They thrill not in their livening glance,
Their glory brings them grief,
And tho they find their splendor dull,
O how I long to be beautiful.
In spring they saunter thru the park
Their pollen flesh full flush,
And thru their pearly glamour gates
All sentience strives to rush,
Yet in their sacred city self
The law of doubt ensures
Their every moment miserable.
O how I long to be beautiful!
They congregate in giggling groups
And greet with kissing cheeks.
They stroke each other’s wonder forms,
Share mutual bliss extreme.
And tho they never sleep alone
In lonely, lurid dreams
They moan distress incurable.
O how I long to be beautiful!
When two exquisite beauty things
Sit splashing in the club,
You take their sparkling, juicy joy
For most amazing love,
But beauty is to be enjoyed
By those who have it not,
And though their love’s impossible,
O how I long to be beautiful!
Performing what the world yearns
They stand before the mirror,
And you might think they there perceive
The bounty you revere
But back at them the ugly glass
Shines empty horrid doom,
Their being steeped in ridicule.
O how I long to be beautiful.
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9. |
Fuck My Friends
05:03
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marry me, inter-operational assistance resistance
my poetry is death’s plan b
for yr woe zone of woman work,
cuz, like, it ain’t coping season already?
yr obsolete as a means of gathering yr insides
i’m an unmanageable cruet
filled with intangible suet,
n humans r dust donuts, so
let’s drink sum pornaldehyde
n i’ll be all i can be
were i as dire and renovated as thee .
art, aka unrehearst kink stew,
likes to pretend he’s opposed to
vigilance agenst cheating,
but really he just hired it out,
so wen will u flush the birds
from yr backwards binoculars
n get too swept up to get kikt around?
marry me, unpredictable precondition
with the spark of genius in her hair.
the world’s past me by on its way to me.
i only exist in deleted scenes.
the invisible hypnotist claims another title.
marry me, nonsense as popsicle.
marry me, garbage disposal national forest.
i’m a dreamy ever-fresh
disaster in the leather flesh,
crooked bushmaster of my
ineffectual scheme, eyeing u,
an indelible perfection in my blip,
for the affection of the whomever dart,
trying by lying to make dope
of the hope that this cremation womb,
this mensural cycle, this dim
cross-observation tomb, this
“hot turkey on the lam” is
the start of an impossible relationship.
stop lookin at me
like yr cookin me,
like i’m hookin for free,
quit bookin my trik reflex
for kickin in yr misfit sex shop
n blow the jungle back into my balls
til snorkel head breathes waterfalls
n tweets to the sweets, “how can u
be evrywer cept in my care spotter?”
let my votive storm peal open
yr veal cave,
press my id scan imprint
gentle to yr
mammogrammatology,
stamp this infinite
detour chromosome jam
down the homebound road
to mutual montage mayonnaise,
turn the sponge pistol
on yr dad mess
daughterspout
prophylactery.
marry me, upside down sound.
yr a trifle markt for all pockets,
u pay bigtime to get yr kok stuk in peace out sockets,
a lost man is good to find, no?
marry me, baby ground piano.
marry me, u mock tease of self-reflection.
yr my hed on yr spirit fish,
yr artifice rims my orifice,
wanna put u in lok down n set u free,
wana play space cadet in yr trouble newt,
wana chug yr rubbled piggy chi,
wana tuch myself tuching u,
wana strop my flank lips on yr dug pranks.
ok, so i’ve ben a bad swingset.
unbrad me from the moment
i wuz ment
n maybe i’ll play god to the details
u don’t even have.
i both cannot and can only
revere the riveting morons
that bellow in the oviducts
of yr slobbering carafe.
u purr o u, i purr u too,
we’re the per se i want entre nos nous.
thx for the imaginary cake in my face
thx for the durational performance shoulders
thx for the wanting member laden with gerber trace
thx for the ticklish feminist boulders
thx for the oleander nails on interactive labies
thx for the squirting fanatic daily
thx for the incompetent cats parted by meandering babies
thx for opening yr yurt to my yak
thx for the pre-occupied piper
thx for mounting the trophy kill of my hurt wrack
thx for swimming in my diaper in yr swim diaper
thx for the hater in scrubs
thx for the one day pas to yr silver spork club
my friends, it’s time to bomb the village.
only u shall survive.
n from yr remains
we shall build another
composed entirely
of belly ache pillage,
n in a massive locket rocket
we shall shoot our
revivalist titty recollections
into the impenetrable nite why,
as we sing our hearts out
whilst basking in cheap recreations
of the shit stains of buddha as pest
marry me, ingested in gest.
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The Good Hard
The Good Hard is playwright, poet, and musician Kirk Wood Bromley's band featuring players and producers in NYC and Arizona. Email the "Contact The Good Hard" link below if you wanna talk.
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