Cliche Practice: spring '96

I hate sweaty winter,
the empty object
the earnest irony
the bashful stare
the gentle bomb
the sweet vomit
the rehearsed freedom
the sleepless dreams
the invigorated pain
the blithe shards
of every smirky bastard
who picked up a Muse to use
as a mirror-stand.
Loathing reflects beautifully.

A corner of the circle: spring '96

In heady days of mental brine
I cast for taken journeys.
i hooked the look
gravity
Quite the token sign.
The destiny of birth
took an odd turn
And now I have
mental notes to burn.

initiate archive: spring '96

date and time are not accurate except for the year, this is from the spring or summer '96.

Pea-soup time
cannot be stirred
by malign slicing
ticks
of the imaginary clock.

i got a metal plate
for my heroics
in my mental abortion.

i can also fart
"ode to joy."