81_poop_hatch
kingsuperspecial
My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver barbig poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows outand the little red fenceand the wire and the woodand the barbs and the berriesand the tires and the bottles and the caruponrims … and the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into goldtrumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was blocking an ant’s visionand the mice played in its air holes and valves … a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flowerits hum heard just above the groundblack dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small windowbirds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper … "My sun is free from the window," said the god the green dabbers … rice wires mouse tins and milk muffinscereal and stonematches and masks and mace and clubsand splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet … cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph linesa silver winga clouda rumbling of a clouda crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear obviously artificialneighbors laugh through sandwiches … Harlem babiestheir stomachs explode into roars … their eyes shiny with starvation … spreckled hula dance on my phonograph … my door rattles windysand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot heara typical musician’s nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers … "Why don’t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rocknroll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratchthe surface of a friendthis high book a friend laid on meon the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thoughtstrain on the spoon like a wheat checkcheck Bif – cotton popping out of his sleevepoop hatch openbig poop hatch with a cotton hatch – hatch holesgot to pick up the hornsbut the head won’t move until it walks
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kingsuperspecial If you don't know who
Don Van Vliet is, you should stop by the radar station and make your tiny little world just a little bit bigger.
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a torta the four door version came with positraction

the sport coupe was a 5 speed

and the station wagon...

well, we'e just not gonna talk about the station wagon
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god i'll send vliet boots as well. 030624
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