notes from a walk that will be picked apart

i want to stuff you in a garbage bin until it's time for me to find you again

i want to place continents between me & everything i hold dear & then see what we build & what we neglect

i want to want a cigarette and i want a beer

i want a split wet beaver to stick my rock hard dick in like that building that says 'boner 4ever' or the people who sleep in the cars with the seats rolled down & write secret reports in the language that occurs between radio stations

i want to leave you elaborate & revealing notes & hide them in places you might maybe look because it's never the message it's always the act

let's dynamite something soon & spend time in an aquarium eating all sorts of things wrapped in bacon

i have reason to believe i have my reasons they are old & buried deep inside all of us all it takes is a mountain or dynamite or road work or the proper sounding gear

it is written in sounds & spoken in pictures & it takes a certain amount of punching yourself in the face to see it because you can't see a thing when you're trying that hard to look at it

i want to drench you in milk & honey because i am told they are comforting

& i can only think standing up in motion or when i'm sleeping

i have written my best work in my sleep i hope it stays there there are sounds coming from the garbage bins i am growing impatient i am shopping for dynamite on the internet in this light the buildings are mountains the fog is ringing them