--- B I L L Y   X   O 'B R I E N   A N D   R O N A L D   P A L M E R

I love the way he pranc: es: through the world: Pur:S--:Snaps: his pen: sive coasting. 

The sun is a war: 	ning: 		(Four: Halves) 	Either way you're prose:
 			ly: tizing: 	the unwanted religious come-on:		leaving 
a more offensive residue on the body: 		than the se:	xual: Per: Haps I'm 
simply lonely: 		for anything rusted that hinges. 	O! Orbitterrible. 

Non: Memoir: 		Non: Theory: Non: Language: 		Non: I-obsessed Non: 
self drenched. 		39 moons and yet you choose: mimas: phobos: charon: dione: 
titan. 		Do moons have Mir:	rors that or: bit: around it? 			


Playing abra: cadabra with the laser faucet. 	I smell my purga:	torial breath: 
awakens me with a re:	quest for liquid. 	I don't want anyone to sp: 	oil my 
picnic: 	All mons by accident. Pulled: pooled: twirled. Orbitterminus.

I have walked through Bishop's gar:	den: and found boys skat:e-boarding: 
	in the drained orange fountain:		twisting their bo: dies in air: 
smac: 		king down the wheels 		on cement

Offering the crowd of ice cream eaters: the following scripted pitch:	is all my 
punishment will allow:	some days my orbit is sour where a good shave is pushing 
myself:		depression waiting: salivating like hungry anus:	Orbitterminate.

The logic of dying: 	con:	(s)tains a comic 	agit: ation:
	serving California wine in the fourth trauma building:		hinges like a 
stapled orange root: 	dang:	ling from the tongue:		The orange crane lifted 

The orange crane lifted its metal mouth against the hill of snow: (people force 
others into orbit.) 

You never not:		iced Venus:	 and its lack of moons! 

I was shot:	 on this arc: 	as: cent 	through sky 	reminds me of this one 
particular 	a: 	muse: 	meant 	ride. 	Cumber: some massive rubber boob 
with a continuous flow of coating milk:		

The children run like ante:	lope:		 up the ob:	tuse arc. 

The goal was to reach the meta:		llic nipple where one could hold on safely:
		watch the others slide back down acce:	lerated (la:	cerated) 
	milky coat. 

(I imagine this is what it's like to die.  Per: Haps: Purse: Snaps: Round: Laps:

Pour some rapid aging product in his tea: 	watch him grow from you to me.)

The luckier ones:	 can only watch as children slip back down to the ground.
 	The slip back down:	 being a kind of break:		a kind of beginning
 	of the descent. Serving busy signals like jokes on the nation. Or:bit:tin:kering

This happened to me once in a high school swim meet. 		I caught my first 
glimpse of this arc I am on. 	I swam my laps.			After the eleventh lap 
my father became the swimmer 		drifting in the lane next to me.
	I stopped to ask him what happened. 			

I've yet to glimpse the arc again. (I don't try hard enough). 

The second time I caught the glimpse: 		I walked too far out into tree.
 		 I forgot the ground is an illusion. I saw my father in the up-stair's window
   			of our house 	not knowing he was still home. Orbitterify
 				I thought myself out of the tree:	wondering: 

what is the comb:	I: 	nation:	pad-locked 	geo: 	metric furnace? 

Orbittackle Orbittangle Orbittouch.