Covert note jots– no work, show locks
Merits of burglary, perpetuated artfully.
Self-sustaining artist, it’s hard to be.
Far from me to halt in session.. After a
Walk on a Monterey levy, on faults a
Lesson. My call, delicatessen. After 3
Books. Ones I just stuffed in a drawer,
Still in mind’s scales like meathooks.
I’m a freed crook, with specific alignments to his assignments. Not vending my work on any kind of consignment. Sign of times in binds–
All perimeters confined. Miscalculate
Older sakes. To a cabin remote escape, by the Great Lakes. Drive in
Tireless acceleration, no brakes. To
The Party, selling my words should be
More deplored than drug dealing. You shout “Revolution!” A roar implored, we’re done fleeing. And I’m finally