Marco Giovenale

shells on a bed of salt

girls, i ordered shrimplastic ham. we all chopped the subwoofer.

then went into the last car we bought, ts eliot and me. we had a fair amount of space. went to comics connection. out for a week or so.

his girl was funny, she wore an adorable copper gown and sang yodel gospel vowels.

all those european coins around. i finally just wrote a letter to athena. I'm getting tired, phantom, just take the train and come here, hun, cleverly hide yourself in a plastic easter egg, do not speak, we’ll make their hair turn white. the ninja egg.

i know how to wrap the cheese in foil, squeezing lemon on a spoiler on the back.

come and hate her fried vampires. follow my instinct.

a cool stereo system implies suicidal jumping from the bridge, down to the easton immortal portal.

so i accidentally shot ts eliot in the head. for i was twelve or maybe thirteen and I couldn’t know how to handle a cow-shaped gun. consider your age. the aquarium in genoa is the most relaxing thing in the world.

it makes you think of the death of god, and all those related songs.

Yrik-Max Valentonis

A Whim

A whim guides an
optimistic phoenix beside the annoyance
the chickens have escaped
fool afternoon fields

familiar rice mediates
admire equity among
the country status
the flesh a smiling populace

distance solves the flower
night shall pipe
analog method smart
oil thirsts under graveyard mettle

hair up let her in arms
carpet cupid cemetery snake