published in Volume 1, Issue 4 on September 15th, 1994
The bungi parade slathers the sky with lavering trites. And creeps of luck philibuster floozies who bow and pay homage to polite punctuation adorned with beer speckles. I've got Ukulele poisoning and a Token Ocean-- and I prance through the town square in my shark fin underwear selling history for five bucks an era while a teaspoon of Barking pus follows at my heels. It's the par cool. It's the new wave. Don't be a fool--stay hip, park your soda and unzip. What gets me is-- Barking pure blue and billowing lines to the sky. Singing bow ties, dancing green eyes and law firms in bondage force fed french fries. Cucumbers that calculate the angles of innocence and Broccoli that sells the past for clever lies. But See, it's none of the above. It's the self-strangled love. Or the regret of a midnight egret circled in yellow yarn and not a sock to darn. What gets me is the soft cry that awakens demon hunger and the obscure moan that drives meaning asunder.