It’s so cold in here I want to cut my left arm off. The kids at school will all get murdered. They don’t know the edge of my plan, what it’s all about. Pink dogs are barking out my window; buy a machine gun and fuck the rest. I’m so limited at times in my gallant apprehensions; wanna buy a new grenade? Thick riffs emitted from stereotyped letters. No more coughed museums for sale up the asshole of zero. Whose concert is worth fighting for. The outward dementia. Give me a compliment, I’ll hand you a knife. Videofuck smells nice in the aftermath, I must admit these things to my self. “You don’t want to risk some black business and get deported from the planet.”
Maybe cut her breasts off stick them in the stew that would help things. Get educated before you chop someone else’s cock off; inherit the wind. Orange jehovah bled on the tile, seething mass of mistakes all wrapped up behind the same glass case. We have no respect for your law, your penetrationary mass of absolutes farting down from the ceiling. The attic’s mass of squirt lotion secures a cold place in the shadow of the architect’s eye; who knows how many bones one has to spin through before arriving at the final showdown. The masticated affair knows no parallels when finality gets drawn out. I’m forming a splinter group anyhow; maybe we’ll learn how to re-finance tomorrow.
Travis Jeppesen © 2006.
Travis Jeppesen was born. He wrote a novel. It's called Victims. It was published in America by Akashic Books, and in Russia by Eksmo. His new book is called Poems I Wrote While Watching TV. It has illustrations by Jeremiah Palecek, and will come out in March. His work has/will appear(ed) in Purple, Prague Literary Review, 3am Magazine, Another Magazine, ZOO, thefanzine.com, New York Press, Bookforum, Pretend I Am Someone Else, Thee Flat Bike, dorfdisco.de, Pavement Magazine, Shampoo Poetry, Can We Have Our Ball Back, and a bunch of other places you've probably never heard of. He edits BLATT.