Chance Of Rain Lottery

For 500 million I'll give you a 50% shot, for 750, 75%, and for a billion, guaranteed victory. We already know who won, fella name of Budget Shortfalls. Wars that can't be won or shod of or however my cracker forbears said that; which we do mishear and obliterate for our own amen; it was probably shot of who knows, they have marbles in their mouths there and here too, and wherevers you are, except for The Bill, he says: Was that, double now. But it's just for to cook with.

That Ain't Racing

The weight of wasted breaths will smother us; if coal doesn't first. Hope the next down to five hundred and back up to mystery have some treebots to char. 9/10 Chinese agree, they the shit; uh all money is imperialist, and bread is bread unless it's sawdust. Grass soup; stones are for stoning, only, churches for shooting, bombs for crowds; where I'm going? Into the traffic, of those looking for bucolic escape in rows of gawking cars, flashing out; look, an elk. From the humidity to radon the cold to two seasons, we're the worst invasive species; pride only dies in the graves, even if what it's wrought is worse than a whole lot of the million possibilities; pick a number. Yes, I know, you'll be having, the destruction, and a cheeky vin.

My Dirty Mouth

1 bullshit, 1 fucked, 1 bitches, 1 pussy, 1 whores, 1 fuck, 1 fucking, 3 fucks. Handslaps and soap don't work. We employ small children to pinch you behind the arm and we teach them to twist on contact too; they love their job, work cheap and don't eat much either, so watch out; oh yes their little smiles of joy are free, enjoy quietly though; quieter. Can you believe he said that, about the mother, thing? I know and after all she did for him; get the big crowbar; bigger.

RTC2

Heat island bow echo; the drops and pushoff almosts of the teething parent, those screams, must be daddy sins; still capping what they want to/o; oi smell pretention, and some sedentary clotfest; mm, your upper lip. What are you doing? Stress what you want to/o. I am pretent, obnox, bastard/ious. Devious and a mofucker as well, but I love my mother and the one I call mama now like no other no I never fucked my mother but I may have jacked off to the thought of it, we are all sick fuckers, fronter, animals, and emotions abound, more dimensions of madness and mutation than a string theory or any dream of beautiful math can hold, screaming out at fifty million watts into the ignorance that we call the universe capital tm add a circle and dot it, copyright enforced; pray space, and hold your ass; open. No I don't know what the fuck. I believe you believe that there.

Chesapeake Energy Sucks Cock

Spot price bullshit, we get our power from coal and always have and to cede you the power of eminent domain is beyond all pale; that is, it's fucked up; means pols, and tired old actors, talking out of more sides of their faces than Heath Ledgers Joker: in theaters now, run bitches; wait, it's a recession, give us burgers and netflix and moms comfortable apple pie pussy; what will the 1k a night and 9k a night whores and hotels do? Mon dieu. Yes I did, bad wiring, burnt wiring more like just ask my brothers my wife my one last friend the guy I met on the plane who I struck up a conversation with because I felt sorry for the Mexican lady he was bending the fuck out of the ear of as she nodded along painfully, loneliness kills, and why do I feel I can save anyone when I can't even save, say or even fucking find, myself? How's that for a run-on? Does that have a dash; probably; its because they write for money and tow the line that runs through the rings in our noses, and that we love and we hate, and that we hate and we love, we'd crush 'em for free fuck 'em; its all lies and made up and paid for anyway and all of it really matters and the exact opposite because it all rolls on and on like a Dyson ball, and how in the fuck can we patent the globe and make it pay huh? Now this may have travelled somewhat(and somewhere nowhere) but the sentiment remains; and the not give a fuck on your face(and in the mirror).

One Oh Five Three

Things I love. Af'ran t's. Oh my God areolas. I know, backhand, but I do. At least it wasn't a cultural anything. I miss semi-colon my bed missing comma bad period. She is show me, city but likes dirty, dirt, pretend you can't go back, country, wants to travel but is happiest wrapped in baby, home, and all well and with that. And that always leads me to ask, what is wrong with everyone, and me surely but human is way too tame a name I dub us Shenanigans. Les'play! Sorry for stepping away, starting and stopping, talking when you'd have me kiss. Embrace! Or talking whenever, and writing too, whatever that chickenscratch was, that wasn't taking you, and abrading you even, sometimes; held from behind all night; heads on sweaty clavicles.

The Sordid Venal Herd

Your writing is my dowry; bite kick, just don't go away, inside out. Bombastic, movie score shit. This is not a telegram. Stop breeding, breeding for me now, write it on a postcard, that they broke me; ha! I me too am a sinner, but we've had more generations than you have years in your version, ah the versions, creation mists. Tastes like, dirt, hint of brimstone, and yes, hung a thousand times; I'd know that taste anywhere. Trillion dollar notes baby. Learning to can.