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--- 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.

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published in association with the |
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