by Reckon

Everything points to her

she has the same kind of exceptional perception

she recognizes him despite his mask

she tells him he shouldn't be there

she has no way to recognize him



Notes on 33 For Your Key Ring by Reckon

You should know  

knowing you should know and already do

dawning, undarking on wise minds

disco foil, drugs, the cornerstone story. 

Action! Cut. 

The rock lava tunnels are superconductive, 

the streets alchemical recipes, 

encoded philo stone in the think tank drunk

on tectonic phonics and contact languages

overstood by earthworms in symbolist daydreams, 

entranced in fancy hues if you wait long enough  

your nose will sniff out the ruse, 

the masks drop everything and think.

Hear that heavy metal song racing, 

hear that earbell lobe overwriting Control,

Newspeak, DoubleThink, forked tongues drugging  

drinks, brainwashed by blacklight beasts...

Notes on Bags of Poetry by Reckon

You have ten bags of poetry, broadsides, potions

So put the language where it appears out of sequence  

And stop coming up w/ new meanings & substituting facts for feelings

To cover your ass.

Why not instead show some skin & & don't pretend

Why not at least bare the dirt sexy soles of yr feet (everybody win).

Are you in a film or in reality? Are you dreaming or just a dish in someone else's feast?

Notes on Harmony Honey by Reckon

curtains slide double back

dimensional inter-light

opens electric luminous legs blessed between her


harmony honey

science courses physical fluid

silk such blouses

open seals and lift corresponding windows

dared open

dared noise, nature

energy being between temples with delicious.

Notes on The Dimension of our deep-rooted desire that is richer and more expansively resonating by Reckon

In a letter to the botanist:

art can reflect a genuine and considerable biological adaptation shaped by our


have been clouding the same unconscious audience — 

buttered by empty promises, simple desires delusions —

again and again to maintain the narrative

origins of species, origin as in 

genetic genesis

fossils of the kind

deeply seated in human nature,

attention rooted in the sense of aesthetic harmony — 

attention through these feelings longing — 

neurons and deepest nature attempt to make sense of the knee

jerk itself, spin doctors hammer it to get a rise.

The feelings are not only emotional beings but advertising

butter, a rigorous evolutionary experience of the emotion as mere use of signs,

So...Predictable reaction, re-enactment, limits in space for shelves to fit all sizes.

Notes on Eyelash Keys Nevertheless by Reckon

Smashed ladies with the spicy breath slide into cozy booths red like the walls and ceiling like their lips  charmers of snakes and feelins and fisher kings hypnotized by sexy steak hot legs turned on by eyelash keys nevertheless in a hot pink dress interconnected cosmic stargazers, middle fingers to the whole fuckin room eyebrow raisers throughout illumined where the hexy hips danced out shadowy shifting shapes by the bonfire where quivering nostrils flared for gold mine mountain air in a luau counting clouds taking them slowly into your mouth working it without a censor...


Quivering eyebrow mountain

shadowy shapes from the fire, sexy steak

nostrils flare working spicy air cruise

Eyelash legs cosmic cloudy mouths

Without a censor  

hexy hips slide slowly into yr mouth

hot legs illumine gold mine room

charmers of snakes and feelings

working it until it blisters




Notes on Bubblegum Bridge by Reckon

Blunt tweeting shroom under the bubblegum bridge,

light gears chasing charms, flavors flesh-sexy in silence as much as talking,

human verb here rubbing the racing interface, illumination radars:

blue dream, grape kush, sour diesel, say, to the mainline human humming  

In that ear globe, overwriting controls over biting taste, replacing drugs with cake 

cake with drugs fakes with original models and makes;

a company takeover floods the body with blood conjuring typewriters and telephone


flood fancies

many verses fire winged wiring

Trips to memory island

Notes on My So Called Band by Reckon


My So Called Band is opening for The Fuck This at Emo's on Saturday, part of the crowdfunded Good/Evil/OD Fest of which ya heard, no doubt. Prepare for blunt tweeting, sexy humans dancing flesh, grape kush blue dreaming, slick photogenic outta sight everything serving messages, a process, a musical farce, circle drums, drama, hip hot watered down diluted jam master bait, fake street art sweethearts and romantic brand ruses. Come on, get wet. There will be bubbles. Jonesing air waves, exposure, unofficial everything.  Swaying excitedly, hypnotized body paint, red hot old hat ostriches sniffing glue (who over inhale swallowing your money to save it).

Notes on The Wizard of Lozenges by Reckon

"There won't be a charge but there will be a fee." - Brian S. Wah


Neandertal tongue at half past midnight, trick pricked all bridled on broken stars, stool rats and the aw shucks Sahara stocking acid rain lasers manufactured abroad by Lazarus Inc which may or may not be a front, a mirage, a casino, a fully functional bunker with two lane highways and traffic lights, the whole kitchen sync. 


Think about the words just for the hell of it the systems, a few forked tongues with misplaced ambitions, who said they shot blanks but we smell victims hooked on the broadcast mediums, swallowing sWords, spells baked by drones anchoring enterprises playing with erasers and a ton of young skin, emotional resonance

traded on the nose on the #NYSE for the wizard of lozenges

In: fighting over nothing  

in: a game no one wins




Notes on Twisted Peppermint Tweet Grass, Y'all by Reckon

Twisted peppermint tweet grass

uber facts an attention revival

uber facts semper ubi sub ubi  

orizabus subaziro Fab Four ubi sub ubi umbra

as a matter of fact, y'all  

hot spells made onomatopoeias, orgasms

spread leg shapes, shadows, hot buttered lip

cinema psychic rhythms rigged naked ribs

with dips and chips, marijuana cookies, rum and soda cake,

to celebrate cigarettes and sonnets 

threw all the poetry magazines into the fireplace  

(Lit / Baked / WB Yeast)