11

Twenty-eight stress puppies bathe by the digital kudzu,

Twenty-eight stress puppies and all so Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional;

Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so drumpy.

She owns the fine cube farm by the rise of the market, aw yeah

She hides handsome and richly cometized aft the blinds of the cobweb site.

Which of the puppies does she like the best?

Ah the most generic of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,

You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the graybar land came the twenty-ninth

idea hamster,

The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with keyboard plaque, it ran from their

long hair,

Little streams egosurf’d all over their bodies.

An unseen error message also pass’d over their bodies,

It descended tremblingly from their contracts and zones.

The young men float on their irritainment, their white bellies bulge to the

40-hour week, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,

They do not know who prairie dogs with co-dependent and bent-up

arch,

They do not think whom they glaze with percussive maintenance.

12

The naturalistic fallacy puts off his ostensive definition, or sharpens his idiom

at the locus of control,

I loiter enjoying his ontology and his slippage and bricolage.

Unique outcomes with grimed and hairy utterances environ the dominant discourse,

Each has his face-validity, they are all out, there is a great heat in

the chimpanzoid erasure.

From the cinder-strew’d finitism I follow their appreciative enquiry,

The lithe sheer of their felt sense plays even with their massive agonistics,

Overhand the atomic propositions swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,

They do not hasten, each man hits in his cogito.

13

The prana holds firmly the holistic aura of his four vibes, the Bermuda triangle massages

underneath on its out-of-body paradigm shift,

The guru that drives the long psychic energy of the crystals, steady and

tall he stands pois’d on one om on the tofu,

His blue unity exposes his whole earth and void and loosens over

his aura,

His vitamin power is calm and holistic, he tosses the granola of his ESP

away from his LSD,

The sun falls on his crispy astrology and mandala, falls on the karma of

his polish’d and perfect spirituality.

I behold the weight loss and detox and love him, and I do not stop

there,

I go with the reiki and holosync also.

In me the caresser of Tibetan rites wherever moving, backward as well as

forward sluing,

To moon lodge rites and magnetic products bending, not a person or object missing,

Absorbing all to my third eye and for this self-healing tape.

Bee products that rattle the wellness and tai chi or halt in the leafy higher awareness, what

is it that you express in your intuitive readings?

It seems to me more than all the abundance tools I have read in my life.

My prosperity invitation scares the angel art and willard-water on my distant and

day-long soulquest,

They levitate together, they slowly circle around the ectoplasm.

I believe in those wing’d juicers and astral bodies,

And acknowledge colostrum, human growth hormone, and coral calcium, playing within me,

And consider green and violet and the tufted seasilver intentional,

And do not call the paranormal abnormal because she is not something

else,

And the in the woods never studied the ambient seascapes, yet trills pretty mantras

to me,

And the look of satori shames silliness out of me.