what half life

  where have i been, whom
      for so many sundered individualities
  wrung from own self hide
         so to be a diligent digital dandy
                         tied to
      giant python heaped in pool of skin, 
          androgynous desire, plastic fork.
 i know youre busy with work and home life
 i still want to say things... but also getting really
     back into extension
 lava of foldbacks into the bay
 flanked by soylent-filled pleasurecraft,
 tho i of course would put things a little differently. 
   i loathe them but they,  
 after much joyful and crazy partying and dancing, 
   were a historical necessity
 i even visited recently  
 mostly sunny 22 degrees. 
 but im also getting really badly stuck 
      in stages of honing,
 working on a loon farm (in the broadest sense) 
 no need to obtain the imprimatur of 
      gruff meniscus, just
        grot me, great -oid
 mount self own lovely red parade
 on the shinky-ginky man and the desert and the bomb
  and if cant get the trolley to roll then 
cant i just skip ahead to late work?
 webs sprawl over crusty dried socks
 dead nature caulked on backyard table
 pocket-crushed tissue at base,
 holding the dead bee, salt raining
  from picture clouds in nylex cavity
       on a sub-loop of great 
   mechanical peace,
           like the fall
           like bird of human skin
    who bore the desert stage
 under heavens of mange
  after warm welcome by boris
      , the destroyer
 photo of turd-shaped meditation hotel sculpture
                 to be circulated
 and there are bushfires. 
   ill be lurking again, 
   just need to ride a few stops, on the terror 
      coz have to buy stock 
 and some other bullshit to print off if we get the chance
 hopefully this time ill get to see you play. 
   you showed me this years back actually, 
 appeared before me with a mischievous grin
    ready to burn and fly and play the land
                with like a little glass punch.
     a toxic green biretta veils all for all
  propped by narcissistic nostalgia
         and caustic pints slime down the coast
       acid in eyes?
 without it wed have to torture
 ppl and bomb hospitals at once.
       and there are bushfires. 
 wipe the blue twine from your lips
 but it wont stop coming
   up cricket ball throat
 it brokers wrong answers
    butll be tied
 by beat wrangler, like 
  oussous vines in bare night
                   to untold
      heavens of mange,
          a hex
 pledging to hook you in shade,
    about a gruff picket
  black-orange biretta cloaks the land
                                 for all
       and what vacuum here to hold
       and what half life
       and something of ovular time
 , like the sound in tetris when you get a tetris,
 but spread over hours, and in those hours
 pure extension... so its kind of inevitable...
 heaps and heaps of dead nervy time too
    only blinder and blacker
 we were unshaven in black hoodies and depressed! 

, he grunted