Whispers. Vietnam. 9/13

Whispers assured me.
In a sluggish accent
You could be quite cold.
The type to loose a limb-
Grumble an itchy texture.
I have the Urge to scrub down the cost of struggle.
Worthwhile is still part of the agenda
And Getting lost is west of town.


Jessebercowetz.com

Mystery. Vietnam. 9/13

Mystery is the staple of our design.
Calling.
High-end and comfortable.
Stunning beyond bolder.
Step forth.
Yes its our calling.
New love
wrapped around your finger.
Geometric is our undoing.
The heat and the rumble
and the crud in the lung.

One week. One time. One
ounce. Once... Shhh...

Hold me.
An absolute disaster.
Everyone...get it?
A ticking time bomb shine!
Take a look
All round any corner.
All round any world.

Today Was 'Twas. Vietnam

Today was 'twas 12:26 am
and it was every concept and every image
I've ever known.
Passed on by will and testimony.
Like an order from a slippery more sticky
menu -
The kind you haven't seen in two months.
The kind that reads in its second language
- banana slit.
Bleeding on thru the cheap.
Back-lit by some sunny-day.

Yesterday:
Spinning like a carpenters blade.
To be free of parents, patience, children.
Like cardboard taped to much
with rolls all over.
Pounding, flipped, slapped, sounding, satisfied.
And then there's love.
It's stuffed inside chunks of white poly.
Dirty cells chucked like fruit-
soaked in stuff that makes you fall down.
Scattered amongst stains of kiss.
And pissed-off smudge beater.
Court supervision and funeral expenses.
In most states
embalming is not a law.
Floating bones to the bottom of big sea.
Where sunny-day and stars
can't-not reach humerus or tooth.

Town. Vietnam.

Before I left town
town was all so dumb.
Town the town is a slow learned magazine .
A sky-line of paper
cups and rolling hills.
Street lamps stagger
like drunkin sloppy.
Town needed a good friend like me to hold it up.
Better town have you as deputy.
You to tap the cords.
You to bleed the lines.
You to keep town town.

Deckled Walls

Sometimes I get pissed.

Then I'm reminded.

There once was a time 

monsters had no clear edges.

And bound in a instant.

People had heard of a boy 

with chopped hands.

His awards for penmanship.

Dexterous toes 

building deckled walls.

Stacked journals that study to the ceiling.

Anything O Anything. Vietnam.

Anything o anything
That keeps you smart at night.
Like friends, like dogs or books.
Like technologies own stuff.

Anything o anything that keeps you in all in.
Marriages flood like wires in Asia.
Friendships love arrangement.
Family dear family.
I talked it over and I believe.
She believes.
The hound dog believes.
Stuff is what faith is made of.
We set it all up flesh to flesh to flesh.
Centered like all good pieces.
Right before clang tosses to the left.

So far to the left that it kills you.

In A Room. Vietnam.

I was staying in a room
with rectangles and water.

Behind and caught lagging
soaked up to salty.

You like a waterfall film
plastered overlooking the free-way.

Our concept of opportunity
was floating in a bed of saffron
rice spanked to shrill
over flowing with crumble.

What sizzled was all splatter torn
tears and tears...
With a point and a bulge.
Just like how so.
When gods built them so.

Vietnam 9/7

Before I left town
town was all so dumb.
Town the town is a slow learned magazine .
A sky-line of paper
cups and rolling hills.
Street lamps stagger
like drunkin sloppy.
Town needed a good friend like me
to hold it up.
Better town have you as deputy.
You to tap the cords.
You to bleed the lines.
You to keep town town.