tom taylor - Nomerica

Nomerica. O dutiful but specious lies, you clamber graves again, your peepholed marvins travesty, above thigh fluted pain, No merika no merika, I blame your sins again, your leaner days undignified and flee thee stains of shame…. Got shit Nomerika and sink your empty name.
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Nor pine asshole night time medicine swallowed uphill all the way some ankles are not bending freely but crash against the sides of the trail which seems to go nowhere but the aisle next to you crouching against the harsh light from the helicopters. The flowers had emerged from their summertime costumes to populate the garden briefly with their reds and yellows and oranges and buzzing things against the window while you seem to float upwards a woe slant and stuff short music fills your hair with sunlit pensions reflected off the surface of the pools watery glow light refracted bounding from eye to eye less solemn than appreciated by the surrounding silence filled with air and the perfume of sensation.
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interfluctuant hosnie plumarole dramasurgery democletian surroundedness afar no nostrum for the faint plutardo eskimot reliquaried hopeless entanglement clears you for the passage into reverse polarity evicted from conscious mentation the desk by the door the man on the floor the sound of the poor the reverie of the more and more she slides from idea to idea apoplected histrionic diatribic building tables was what Pound did for relaxation some of whom are still around in the dark rooms of penetention claiming one’s bamboo cage is another’s birdhouse for ideas. Nomenclature doubt egotrism fluctuant period inherited scoliosis makes the photos blend and turn into the light table behind the scrim behind the name of the particular saint who authorized your absence….
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ego the day. The forms themselves are word forms who rely on other aspects of their nature to contain the very forms they are, in fact, not released for circulation or dimension clears the air for spying on the installation of the satellites which will monitor you all the time, a lot to do for someone with nothing to do which nonetheless lets them off the hook for now, your feet drying in the wind from left to right unpleasant odors rely their sense is let out of the bag the very first time sound structures push forage to plunder sink match math mats, the truth of the proof is left to the student to determine.
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goes lyrical at sudden liners floated hours yellow and pale green stalks bearing their fluted plane across platforms such as who really knows any more the life sucked out of all the icons left tattered and wrinkled on the floor by the door – we call you out for some renewal and striving to be what you are in the time you have before you one single day against these hours marking the shore with elements and positions and related causes.
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the matrix exploded, probably a hopeful gesture upon reflection the reality far worse than could be depicted, your own interests thrown from the ship at night with no one looking, still another house to paint keeping all hands out in the open as might be imagined what really do you use in this situation but what’s at hand or handy the cool hour the maintained shelf paper the sticking door the refrigerator filled with freezer burn meat sinking down into the underside of the apartment complex enough for psycho hermetics applied twice a month at specific intervals and times relieves the terror from its hold on your hours across the bored is soon enough to tell them off and on is now and then and…