Make me a sandwich my neighborhood.

Cleveland invades Cincinnati.
My friends are coming down tomorrow and all I can think is,
"Oh shit."
I spent 18 dollars on a mercury Virgin statuette.
This is getting stupid.

Kitten Pepper Kryptonite

By Avril Thurman and Kelly Tadge
{I may have taken some liberties here, I can't transcribe my own handwriting}

You lack your lip off a riger mortis, unnaturally nothing.
Your body isn't the land, this defecates you.
A sedentary cacophony to one horse staying.
The bed stains out your giving redness.
A sun isn't the albumen, this deshells them,
After you aren't cowering from good, an ill-designed, offbeat choice.
Or a sufficient sound expels thatself around a ribbon,
A sound, this dots thatself for a cloud, dislikes the mathematician.
Or non-affliction can gesticulate from affliction.
Spelling your kiss off a dictionary from space,
You forget where that isn't, of rejoice,
Or suffocate doom outside a monolithic pour, a recluse.
Or this you mustn't ravel yourself from, a lamb's loss from heaven.
Or banging unusual, old pavements off a sunny front, bastard writer.

so obviously what I mean to say is that

Gliff is my new favorite word, followed of course by gloam. I also keep slopping back and forth between like and dis of Chris Martin's poems.

FunctionalDespondency = I didn’t sign up to be the party pooper, it just kind of turned out that way.

The goose accidently crossed the freeway. His body froze of rushing’s foreign feelings. His friend watched as the semi truck clipped the lower half of the other goose’s body, spraying feathers like dandelion seeds across the highway, catapulting the body to a heap of bird beside an unforgiving road.
“Oh look, how sad.”
“Poor bird.”
“Road kill.”
“Gross.”
Words feign sadness to be polite.
The other goose was left stunned and confused, squawking a requiem of un-flown flights for his fallen soldier. He too will not return home, byway-highway’s have avian hungry jaws, sticky like tar and permanent like tire tracks.
Why couldn’t they just remember how to fly back to some glassy lake and make bird-love and have bird babies?
I am the goose, the goose’s forlorn friend, the highway, and lakes of the deepest azure. I am going to be heartsick forever.