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there was dew one dark night, magic and vulgarity
an abstract feeling of emotion
small treeless area
between safety and being stuck
the ghost gets awful mad
the boys realized they had a lot in common
"i've had so much bad luck already," he told them, "that it don't seem like much worse could happen to me."


the snow came sweeping down
"i will give you what you need"

the boys departed
pull it out and they throw it on the floor, sail out into the middle of a lake, drop the motor.

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Don't worry about me. I won't go away.

The interior of the place was wrecked
partly drained swimming pool
ask someone to draw a mountain
into a pure, beautiful form
and, in a twist
the dormant volcano

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gradually the scenery changed
and there was no gold
but to be honest all i really remember is my eyes, hopeless
with degenerate beauty,showing his teeth
a vein of gold, the tasting of forbidden fruit, fluid and delicious
point blank murder
from blue to purple, dance halls and saloons, stripped of most particulars
the dialing of a telephone and the gravedigger

duet

falsetto croon
just my luck
ballet of confusion, and conflict, faint light



rough-and-ready
looked at one another
cold afternoon
yes, i killed him in cold blood

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sounds made by explosions, tremors, and rolling boulders
the haunted space disrupted, bodies in relation
shivering with cold
on the other hand, of the left behinds
and now you're laughing again
rows of sharp white teeth bared
screams, cries, and moans, constantly forming new patterns
i mean it's fucked up, i'm afraid, i want to go home! scratch words on the trees

2,400 degrees
a seated human skeleton
everything is cool, but it's harder

book

i will be turning my last series of writings into a new book of writing paired with drawing. email me for a copy, jeffrey.teuton@gmail.com

part nine

the black waters may be running
the sunlight without time, wind-warped pines
things down there still coming ashore
a secret universe of his own creation
the sun was down there,lonely and untraversed
stranded timber
some lands, wind, and water. some kind of abstract
four things had to happen




the journey is difficult, immense

part eight

at its heart
raw and primitive
not by the bones
slit of distant blue
i drifted by, clothed heavily
a little proud

the sands, birds, stars, sky, mountains, and deserts
light, never, needed, tilted
and shifting islands lived to see