madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: tambores de la muerte
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2014/06/tambores-de-la-muerte.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Tambores de la muerte. A city is ruined. So, in no remorse,. Getting yours to enjoy while. And mine mind and days. All but ground away. In a vacuum of kiss. Dead mans float in all the bad senses. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Tambores de la muerte. Friends of th' monster neverend. Irish car blog (words). All works 2001 pomes of incestuous union.
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: solve for ex
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2014/03/solve-for-ex.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Because the urge to get inside his head. And make everything seem perfect is so strong. The lad feels pressure to keep us from sad. The suffix -ness, he does not know it yet-. It's just our struggle. Isn't rotten fruit all the time. And time solves everything. Solves it all. here where there. Is salt vapor and saline. Ocean, solvents too;. So solve it all, every mystery. I will at least.
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: lord orange
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2007/01/lord-orange.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Lord orange in an eyedropper. A twenty-minute orbit future to an ion;. Both eternal and over. Lord orange is an idea eaten. And it may be a life's work to find a slice. It coheres once ingested, delicious and crass,. Even past death the taste lasts. Lord orange was born. With his own idea intact. His ropy strands of memory. Lord orange the connector. Joined the sky and earth with a hinge. 1/10 of a day.
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: 1/10 of a day
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2007/01/110-of-day.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. 1/10 of a day. In the afternoon, you too. Change gears and refuel. But bad bad blood. Mixed with your metaphor. Makes a regret-driven engine. Out of you, supposed fool:. The bad bag of blood. Seats you in the back. And belts you in. Begins to take you up. And make dull threats. Toward the landing gear. If you start to stand up. It's "don't you fucking dare". But there is a way to get away. Eyes on tom...
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: Absentminded
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2008/03/absentminded.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Another fine way to be bitten by spiders. Friends of th' monster neverend. Irish car blog (words). All works 2001 pomes of incestuous union.
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: tinker's cart
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2014/03/tinkers-cart.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Misery and company, tin can clatter. O scummy rumbuddy, the tinker can't matter-. He's just another soul, here, but not hereafter-. All that's good i gave you then. My blood and tears and voice and pen. And i am left behind from them;. The man you took away from them. Sensing sweet relief,. I take 100 steps away from me. 99 and 1/8, i am to the tide line,. Still and walking,. Its expected im gone.
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: another fine way to be bitten by spiders
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2008/03/another-fine-way-to-be-bitten-by.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Another fine way to be bitten by spiders. He thought. No, a torch. Yeah, a wooden torch. God damn I want an ice cream cone, he thought. And so it was that the last strands of the dream faded and were replaced by the information of the morning. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Another fine way to be bitten by spiders. Friends of th' monster neverend. Irish car blog (words).
madmcgregor.blogspot.com
]: forty five minutes and four months (gift)
http://madmcgregor.blogspot.com/2007/09/forty-five-minutes-and-four-months.html
A hammer of doubt at my back stops and I wrest it out of thought, now I am going back to smash the rock. Forty five minutes and four months (gift). The man is unremarkable, except for his. Left hand, in the path of a flame, kept. Alive by wax around a wick, an old. Technology, but effective, his lips. Part and his tongue and teeth say. Feel this, this is a gift.' My eyes. Impassive, this is an impasse, I. Am no empath, still an impulse exists,. This is no exit, this is a gift, a gift.
