GOD DAMN, MY LIFE IS PERFECT. YOUR LIFE IS DUMB.

are u still dead? no, u have come back. i thought u were sorta dead. anyway, u are gone now. i write in my book and i cry. i go to u for comfort but u are not u. u are him and u start to cry. i meet a rock star. he keeps touching me. i say i am into the avant garde and then i’ve lost him. i say i am a video artist, poet and artist but he already knows i’m an artist because i draw in my book the hwole time he performs. first it’s a small audience, then it is only me sitting on a lawnchair. he is playing with a baby. little kids come to talk to me about him. they say be careful, he is sort of dangerous.
he doesnt ask for my number. i am looking for black paint so i can write in it, are u still dead?

earl, are u dead yet? u have to come back. i thought u were as dead as an orange.
please write me and cry for my book.

i am sorta dead as a lawnchair. the avante garde already knows i am an orange.
i am gone now. i am in my black paint. i cry for black paint so i cry. please write that i am sorta as dead as an orange.

i am on a lawn chair and an officer lead mrs. one fast move. he made me cry. i’ve lost him. i’m not ready to be smacked forward.

it is june 1970 and i am 100% of u know. i am a rambling rooster. i yield to signs and i still do please. i hate self-propelled carriages. a pearlish half moon. domestic blitz is still unglazed and hazel.u were space echoes when u were touching me. the lesson of her is still in wool. u thought about your combat bomb. if u are still her his hands are still beautiful. i say i am a book and i am dead. u were torqouise with a bulletin chin. welcome to 2000. u have 7 tongues; come with me. after i was a nice kleenex i was the atomic publisher harriet which may sound like an orange blossom special. more black stripes were as crowd-pleasing as your chin.