poem: the california poems cnt.

the language of ghouls ate into the sand — and lo, a town
which exists for the sprawling military-industrial complex some say
the size of delaware. i would like to work there — i want
to purchase odd things for the walls, things so that in laying
on the couch and looking up i feel uneasy, a coffee shop without
coffee but still with the permeating smell. my idea of class
developed at maybe fifteen and my finance hates it when this
seeps into my analysis but i cannot help it,
it is like coming home. i read
to completion but not to understanding, i would like
someone to explain apostolic succession and also
how to make a small aristocratic attractive in the manner
of copulation or darling in the franxx apartment
but how to accomplish this without money
or motivation but only
the mechanical drool of time.