Primed pretender – one evening between serious, serial scenes
Pretty little bespectacled she – vivaciously real, this round-the-clock girl who likens the whole of the wound-up, wrong-way-down, wide-eyed world to her next best favourite detrimental nemesis
As hard as it may well let itself be, she will continue to smile at the right kinds of kindly people far more than when ever she used to protrude herself and let herself unanimously, aimlessly do
Pockmarked into merriment sedation, she holds her quietening yet mysteriously blistering characteristics at unequalled measure, ’til that right-hand man walks merrily along, beating his flavour-filled drum to her favourite best song … all par for the courageous process, if he will … she, though!?
Speak with extraterrestrial syllables stretched-in-distress near the sparkling edges of her fluorescent-splayed puffy red cheeks which lend themselves favourably toward this, their, absolutely everybody’s exceptionable adultery
Popular culture holds a sword-worn place within her adolescently pressed, depressed heart, and we have to, have to, need to motherf*cking start from somewhere special again …
Manage it, please – a blue-chip-collared girl with Poindexter pearl-earrings near her listening ear, and listlessly listening to the sounds of the pulsating underground which ever way they may have decided to place it upon themselves to finally, forgivably, fair fecksake detri-mentally have her …
Songs from where, though!!? Nobody shall ever get to letting themselves know it any more than she did for herself since the plagiarised beginning …
And this live performance of her will put an artificially supreme twist of intelligent artefact in place ’til it starts to swim ludicrously within our eyes for restricted, reconstructed, tuck-on-in demise
Influenced by the beat-poets, she knows exactly who she is, exactly that this is … off-the-track, semi-automatic literature, and she is about to get gainfully distrusting with Us all
Has to ask, yet can you hear her typewritten speak falter to talk … this sheer, weird, sweet intensity filtered on through
To only so much as You. The stress is in the depressed and lent headily, heavily against
Yes, the collaboration lies sordidly within the kaleidoscopic sense of primary, secondary, tertiary creation … with fisticuffs for coiffed procedure, please
Make us read, ’til we weep sweet-nothingness again