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Description
auspex screams,

in alliterated speech,

and empty dreams of,

bones and the world he left behind in the

twilight like

    like fistfights like

        like yggdrasil like
                         never,

  his boneclawdust in my garden,

     a skeleton tree with skeleton leaves

        and bigblack dreams,

          of dark&empty,

    and other bad things,

digging up dust like,

       growing horns with oedi' through

     sugar in ribs in dirt with the

    centipedes in the city, "criminal

        colors" as far as cars go,

        to slithering dark consistencies of

      pale-white flesh&bone like,

   like what i don't know,

     dead and decrepit like the stench of foul air,

        or the emptiness of cities where the

           televisions flicker on and off,
          with visions of static and

      harder snow fish bones

     apples and seven

       through soul Seoul air

         , i sing of myself

        because i would go away

          in any other way through clawbonedust

            in my garden planting hands a spine tree ground up through the nose

        showing up from the road half moving with technical colors

  a siren sounds and I fall around, centipede city, the cars

    go as far as my bone splinter small

      in my car going bad, as far as my bones go, grow,

oranges eight raining hard ,a vine, intensely ,
  and if i knew what it was,

i wouldn't worry as much

and if i wouldn't,

   no one would

no not even myself,

not not even a soul,

not even that boneclawdust stuck in a whole in your wall like what:

                       a centipede city,

                      a cold-ash rain,

                       coming down
                          on these plains
                        like,

                      a plague,

                       of something indifferent or at least delayed

                         your soul's sole dividing aspect,

                          cast it off and neglect it,

                       but still keep it safe,

             in your coldfisted hate of all things

           eternal and memorized like what like what

                         like eternally mesmerized

                    until one day

      your colored your eyes cold,

    with a fistful of charcoal,

   and summer sun on a boat we go

   down with Cicero to pick up amaranth and clove

    and sing up a lively chorus usual

    to sinner prospect and men's club perpetual

we bang the drum, spit the keys

elope for antelope and cough through cigarettes

    on Saturday with a boat we go

    sun dressed and peeled,

white lined and nauseous we

dance with the skeletons and

   roam with Roveos set

   at Denver with delight

chart a course for flight

clawbone hands clutching

   the vine at Summer we go

   to centipede city

picking up lower ups down

at the Barnes spitting the

   seeds with Donte on not and fourth

   and one sixty four fruit fanning

   and now we eat our fist fit-fisted for fun

   no longer a four but a forty in the streets

running a fox finding hounds with hot stitched caps

capping the tars and cursing the musicals

    at centipede city painted a roust to rise

    Rice for sea anemones to find on leave and with

that sort of thing with a severed spine splintering

dust and growing a hand to wave me as we go,

     ship shot castles and golden bays, sailing out a

     pin striped phase and with our broken spines we lay

twisted to a better fate and with that, we go, away.

Description
auspex screams,

in alliterated speech,

and empty dreams of,

bones and the world he left behind in the

twilight like

    like fistfights like

        like yggdrasil like
                         never,

  his boneclawdust in my garden,

     a skeleton tree with skeleton leaves

        and bigblack dreams,

          of dark&empty,

    and other bad things,

digging up dust like,

       growing horns with oedi' through

     sugar in ribs in dirt with the

    centipedes in the city, "criminal

        colors" as far as cars go,

        to slithering dark consistencies of

      pale-white flesh&bone like,

   like what i don't know,

     dead and decrepit like the stench of foul air,

        or the emptiness of cities where the

           televisions flicker on and off,
          with visions of static and

      harder snow fish bones

     apples and seven

       through soul Seoul air

         , i sing of myself

        because i would go away

          in any other way through clawbonedust

            in my garden planting hands a spine tree ground up through the nose

        showing up from the road half moving with technical colors

  a siren sounds and I fall around, centipede city, the cars

    go as far as my bone splinter small

      in my car going bad, as far as my bones go, grow,

oranges eight raining hard ,a vine, intensely ,
  and if i knew what it was,

i wouldn't worry as much

and if i wouldn't,

   no one would

no not even myself,

not not even a soul,

not even that boneclawdust stuck in a whole in your wall like what:

                       a centipede city,

                      a cold-ash rain,

                       coming down
                          on these plains
                        like,

                      a plague,

                       of something indifferent or at least delayed

                         your soul's sole dividing aspect,

                          cast it off and neglect it,

                       but still keep it safe,

             in your coldfisted hate of all things

           eternal and memorized like what like what

                         like eternally mesmerized

                    until one day

      your colored your eyes cold,

    with a fistful of charcoal,

   and summer sun on a boat we go

   down with Cicero to pick up amaranth and clove

    and sing up a lively chorus usual

    to sinner prospect and men's club perpetual

we bang the drum, spit the keys

elope for antelope and cough through cigarettes

    on Saturday with a boat we go

    sun dressed and peeled,

white lined and nauseous we

dance with the skeletons and

   roam with Roveos set

   at Denver with delight

chart a course for flight

clawbone hands clutching

   the vine at Summer we go

   to centipede city

picking up lower ups down

at the Barnes spitting the

   seeds with Donte on not and fourth

   and one sixty four fruit fanning

   and now we eat our fist fit-fisted for fun

   no longer a four but a forty in the streets

running a fox finding hounds with hot stitched caps

capping the tars and cursing the musicals

    at centipede city painted a roust to rise

    Rice for sea anemones to find on leave and with

that sort of thing with a severed spine splintering

dust and growing a hand to wave me as we go,

     ship shot castles and golden bays, sailing out a

     pin striped phase and with our broken spines we lay

twisted to a better fate and with that, we go, away.