Jasper Rose at UCSC

 

 Grey

   Web 

   Version

       Sunk in bed

     Books about the Diversity of Life!

  And cigarettes

   Tums

   Hats and an old t shirt

 With stripes 

   

 Cadavers are piling up

    Where to put them all?

  Put these in the basement!

We'll deal with them tomorrow 

 I've no more whiskey

So what 

   Ahh pivot in the night

       See the sky change

        The voices

  The forced male laughter

     HAHA!

    I guess something 

Was funny

   But I'm just a fly in an earwig

 And it said

      Stop

   Just a sign 

By the road

 The Dream

   A torrent of spilling images

   With ghostly countenance and verbally ruido 

-Harassing me-

  in my dirty bed

  But I can wake and dream again

   But you are forever 

the dream

  Or something sad like that lol

 What's for brekky?

 Open to the 

    side

 A barndoor schoolroom

    of pickpocketed ideas

    Cast a glance 

  And looked away

  And back to the rusty car

     Behind the children's laughter

   

 

 Yellow t shirt day

W the window open

    Gray day 

Go to Vegas or not?

    Hmm

 Your dads getting out of rehab

    Oh decisions

 

  

 By the murk 

  Of the salient future

     The road was an exit

        He stopped time for days weeks

The hoary beast had befriended him

    His lair was covered in ash cigarette butts and empty bubbly water containers

   He had a small window to look out

- a view of San Francisco's Sutro tower

  

 I craved

  The dream

    Of Dreams

    And flew

     To the wrong side of the Aerial 

Saw what there was to see

     Upon the face of mis a cree an

     Say he! - the why

 And then he sighed

 Oh lord!  anutha deeeeeep sigh

    In the car ride

   Poor fella!

 

 Good Night!

Is that better

 That betwixt

         Yesterday and today

That between

      The far 

Or?

 The sunlight cats are mewling

Are there syntax?

   Well there's Death

       That's fo sho

      

But the sin tax

Of the Sol

  The Soul

      

 Hah! I've got you!

 Like little Jack

    At his First Baseball Game

 Good Niche

   No Noche 

    For you

  Ah have a heart

    For once!

 Who?

    would perform

    In performative

    review

  The staunch episodic

 Renewal of mattress delivery?

    I, for one, was ready

    Yes! I said 

     I can help! 

 The creep

     Is measured

         By Chthonian steps

             The demons of the Underwear

                Plagued her insoles

          Chapped and battered

      Like a cream of mushroom soup recipe

Yuk- it's really 

   Justinian

      The Romanesque

 Arrive

   On the banks of Tiberius shores

With rounded bits of clay pots 

  In the water

     

 The dream perforce

    A flat No

      Stemming from the port 

         Or Amontillado stinky breath

 

  Arms like a hurrah

     Were in fact a cloudy day in 

   The east of Norway

       Tundra, sly that

Cat -

   With whiskers

    And well, ya know,

       The way home

 Past the broken Telly

At the corner

 Rust Fish Factory

   Sept 26

     Surely the harvest must be real

    There is no notion

   Like a true Saturday calling

    The phone was rung

       And a Rust Fish harvester 

     Was on it!

    

 Some sorry cancattanense 

    Of Kitty cat syntactically 

    In heightened botified 

    Rebrugenance- Nay!

    I shan't be perforce 

  Nor remiss in my squawking hubris- 

Sir Evandielo bemused

  Outside night was gloomy and windy

    The shopkeeper told of his trips to two Naytional parks

In Russian accented English

  As the Kind Sir bought a can of Vodka Mule

 Crept away

    The cephalopods of night

       With names like Grant and Reginald

      Entombed in their skin

    Frozen in the Dream

   Of castles in desert fog

     Trees of stone towering above their heads

     And the lights shine all night

     As you press your coat tighter and try 

Not to be noticed

   There's talk on the walk

      And your walls are stamped and

Approved 

  Three steps to your right and down 

The shady hall, sir

   Your leg is cramped but you hobble on

   The linoleum is worn and tattered

     The fluorescent light

  Hurts your eyes but the night stars are

Bright in the Saskatchewan Desert Gloom

  A snowball is left at the hotel 

And you pick your way to Room 238

  And it's Good Night!

 Ease that Blofeldt flesh

    Can of corn

        Driving them back 

Thru solid waist

      Stations of the spiral jets

    Insipid

    miracles

    of the downtrodden 

     Psyche

        afternoons in

         Gloom

   Great Gloomy

 FOG

   in the hate

   Breaking BAROOOM

   LIKE candlesticks

       In the streets

     Succor them like potash

    Little pig eyes

 Squeel