Raymond Farr

Smear Jam Campaign (Odds Are)

I: Vacant Chapter 1

At six hours. Psssst.
I genuflect.
Upto the earth.
Our sinister teeth.
A noun with a visual.

Mr french eye
Washes in

His skivvies
Ab ovo

A mid pocket / rock
N roll’r
I lose him in terrible

Eye sockets
He mirrors

He postulates
Patterned after / machined after

He poses
At a distance

I look at him in ricochet
A dialect of spinach

His black teeth
A key board

His non sense
That’s munching

The sassafras of endlessness

Shops at

One fern
Continuous

& twitching
Out car lights

He’s caput
With the bugs

His mind off mid-6s’
Saps me
As cauliflower

I meet mr hinge
A surface of insects:

“Thou river,
u-sup,” he cajoles

“o’Sgt. Margarine,” I reply
apt as
were nuns’

My name is
Oui

I
tingle tongle
up vines
&
down

II: Verbally a Bitch to Keep Satisfied

My medium was television. 12 Monkeys.
My small job. A parachute.
The circus prevented bears and the bearded woman.
Jell-o stalking hung me up. Out of doors.
Up to dry goods. & no good.
I watched receipts.
Jell-o board of direct deposits slipped under. Cranky nap space.
I was brown and speckled.
An intro to:

Apple sauce rejoinders.

& Rain Max:

The sequel to plundered double breasted suits.
Gone drinking with.
Opus magic Nefertiti.
In song.

For the post master ,
mostly disregarded.

I spilled duck sauce all over the plagiarist’s alb.
Of queer white table cloth.
Just like Deputy Dog.
Returning to his vomit.
I was clean for twenty days.

20,000,000 gallons fed me ellipses.

I washed up in Arby’s grown fat on special sauce.
My father a rummaged god.

III: Standing up. Puking.

Chafed along temporal lines. Cud.
I shifted up. Lip synching.
Unaware voodooism. Piled up all glad stone tv.
I charnel housed the field.
The starving little bath room watched.

Burned up public young dudes.
Operated monorails.
Vacant chapter. Miscellaneous ineloquence. Stands up puking.
Advantage: watched pot.

A particular mania for phrases.
A watch piece is made. Out of.

A 3 yr old Melanie Ramos.

IV: & Minus My Jane

her little or nothing closer than
skin ,over Cinderella’s
Clean kitchen floor

Her volume’s
A pilot course:

I am not attempting
Anything comic
As Jules Verne
Or Baltimore Bonapartheid

I am hooked
On jokesQuote:

Unquote: (It hurts terribly) I want this
I want us (italics)
To really workout

(as though emphatic)

to make fun
of bananas
I make
love to
the ultimate

I’m gonna
Flexpay ya

A nomad
in zombie hat

A bath mat
standing among crickets

I am
conjunct with

Total recall
As though frozen

& hungry for
Healthy hefty alien baby

A cog that’s
n alien

is succumbing

to blonde
Naked folie à deux
Kremlin like a dare

Afterall
I’m nut n but
A bit o’

Anglais
(the language of angels

& thus sprecht chief thousand cloud
The method actor

Need I say more?

V: O Rose! Thou Art Rose!

Like I said: hymn #682 was standard.
Every time I spilled the goulash another ritual was performed.
Named after
Max Planck.
Formal jet engine flameout caused flocks of focking sea gulls. Let us heart-hug.
Afterwards I can harvest your character and place it between the pages of a book by Keats.
If it is all the same to you, Special Feeling, I will hold you blindly between my legs.
The same way our forefathers featured in programs for the blind and adamant housekeeper’s son. Did twitter Bonami®. A feeling really.
For nothing of import.

A grass slick on a white rug.

A novella letting out the fraud it worked so hard and long to develop a relationship with.

A cunning riddled up.
with whip stitch.

I want to spend more time with my family & my Wii.

So I kill my Humanities professor but the projector
keeps sliding on the wheels
of the cart it is on.
All around the class room.

My Wii. Between.
My killing field’s a Total Gym.

I like Cheryl Crow. Family davenport. I think she’s collapsed.
I can’t paint someone whose eyes keep darting here and there. In and out of focus.
It is simply soy madness.
To become Russian at this stage of the game. I have poor retention. Ponds.
Ask me something. Anything.
Of cone shaped & Robespierre. Who charts the arteries of.
The quick iris quicker.
Than syllogism?

If he goes: “Hold da phone, I’ll be right wid ya.”
Only to find that that thing in his left ear.
Resembles a night at the edge of Fatalistic known universes.
What then?

I am spattered with maddening spirits.
The joy of red pepper flakes.
Where’s my wasabi?

VI: Return All Cameras to the Visitor Center

Launching pads beget civilized
Big great nations

Are we altered yet?

This pome
Is a variable to variable
Degrees

(No relation!)
a gel

ratcheted loose
of

iron-mice in star-pajamas

have up
& died again today

Becomes absent

Someone please
Enter yr code:

Impact in 60 seconds!

Elbows bent
I am writing the cure

Swift grey fox
Jumps
Over the clean brown
Hedge fund

I am one stocking foot of the Longfellow Syndrome

 
 
previous page     contents     next page