(stretch marks: old fat)

stretch marks: every minute with a toll-booth
every toll-booth with a stopped watch
holding the whale in smile
dipping the cheese in batter
missing sleeves in the magic

self-tanner: who needs the sun
keep your ugly pale pet watch off my lawn
(keep your jumping sheep off my blindfold)

stretch marks: the farthest the sheep made it over its own wool

blindfolds: the stretch marks over our eyes
too many highways in the rearview
too many blinding lights at the end of the - future, like scar tissue
wipe your eyes on the fire in front of you

reverse abstract

backward shirt
the church slowly undressing (trying to make you see it) but without spoiling the plot

trailer for my intentions, double wide, trying to fit the whole nipple in its mouth
how to say all the creases in between
how to weigh all the holes in the cheese

backward necktie tied tight around the milk nipple, drip me chocolate for my night-off , kick me stars around my head for come morning

where did the dirt road become visible wrapped around her wrists like chains
which link did we surf to haldol on, which number-shark ate us half way there,
where did the freeways become drinking habits tucked under bridges with bums,
when did the bridges start counting cars (counting as citizens)
where did our dollar first slip out its tit and throw off its armor and clothes

my golden handkerchief and dead indian’s head on a key-chain weighs a ton
tomorrow was a good day
she didn’t oddly enough even have to use her ID,
no one carded us writing off the time on a one-size-fits-all-tissue, walking into the box, i held a snickers like a stick-up pistol, only pulled out the nougat to see everyone in the room serious for one minute

head full of (exploited)elements
fake-grabbed the cash (off the shaky table)

surgery lines: the longest 12 items or less stampede on this side of her face

(make up waited for everything to run late)

the plastic bag grabbed its leftovers and headed for a dumpster in the sun

was the gum, 7 years to swallow, the repressed emotion, like plastic, dug up out of oil, then stuck back into the heart, of itself, like a drill, not the straw on the cola’s back?, not the choking camel en-route to the coal-mine back into our teeth? (like gum), did my teeth stick together on that last sentence, does my TNT not fit properly in my mouth

this is a staged dream
This Is an Emergency Drill (loony and out of its shopping cart)

all the leaf-blowers into one bag

all the leaves headed clear in one direction

every hole worth digging twice

i might find my heavy golden arm

the hook already hanging from my cheek


from You Were Murdered As A Kid, released September 30, 2011
lyrics and vocals by Brad Hamers



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Dust On Snow (Brad Hamers & Frietboer) Netherlands

Dust On Snow is a collaborative musical project, an agitated and frothing monster created by poet, musician and collage artist, Brad Hamers and beat-maker/producer, Frietboer. On this 8 track debut EP, Brad Hamers (Phlegm, Two Ton Sloth, New Police) provides the words and Frietboer (Frietboerism 1/5, Fiks, Fris & Dood) supplies the beats. ... more

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