Memory passes like a bus
Spirit passes like a ghost
Aura disappears like a dream
Smiles bend like a will

Bohemians cry out and about, losing
Their sanity as passions flush like
Clogged sewage or drug busts, replaced with,
Dare I say, growing up. No deals
Selling songs to parents or art to perverts,
Poems to lovers and rants about ex's
                                                                  Good
Reapers thresh the rapid seeds
Right before it's not.

Maybe its time to do drugs again.

Swift dive into ice
                                 Ocean
Just like a harpoon

Heart shutters draw
                                   Closed
Like her will to live

Page one, Page two
same stuff, none new
Black White, White Black
andthenasounddifferentfromthelowbuzzormaybehumoftheaircondi­tioning
Turnhead Turnhead
shoesshoesshoes go clopclopclop boinkboinkpass--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still

Page four, Page five
none new, dead drive
Eight times Six makes
andthenabreezeblowstreesinanalmostmagicalyetinsidesilentway­
Dazeout Dazeout
swayswaysway light glitglitglit shimshmerdrows--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still

Read on, Till nine
dead drive, ley-line
What’s Greece, Rome’s what
andTHENasoundofGLORIOUSMAGNIFICENTifthatisevenaword
Ringring­ Ringring
Screamscreamscream feet bowmbowmbowm cush’seats

(Take a deep breath in, then exhale… smooth… steady)

For the longest time it was
anyone, and
I felt the pleasures of the
world, and
lost my grasp of love.
Now I can't imagine anyone
You helped me stand
                                      on solid love
And still feel the pleasure of the
world

Bumble down the always halls
Awkward in the way they walks
Desperate in the way they talks
Gaze flings hundred miles per hour inside
The tower of intimidation
sweat gets regarded as a river
Floor by floor the floorboards wable
Claims it’s an earthquake
Not the inner mechanical failure
Mangling the last shred of sanity
Processes of a rabid animal
Brain quivers, spine soils
Not gonna die in fight or flight
Metal smears apart to the moonlit tapestry
Strewn across the pathway
Climbing up the rotting yellow walls
All but tumbling
Running past the train of thought
Faster than a bullet
Clings to his kryptonite
In hopes she will solve him.

The fervid lover sits on the bed, towards the edge
With his golden ash tray, and a coal shining near her mouth
in washed out radiance, quite enough to overlook.

She ashed her medicine, watching the cigarette tears
glide to her thigh, bruised by that man with a shared name
before deciding that she’ll stay.
******* coward anyway;

A tree swaying in the middle of the concrete jungle.

Pain came every time the little boy heard his name
from the monster who changed when the moon rose over the edge
of coliseum mountains, holding barbarity in his eyes and fetor in his mouth.

But when the sun rose oh how he loved and looked
in admiration, telling him “Don’t shed any tears.
There’s nothing to fear.
Why shed your tears?”

A tree swaying in the middle of the concrete jungle.

I put therapy loaded with copper pills in my mouth
and gave it a *******, trying to decide in a pool of confused tears
my emotions, and if they were stewed or straight edge.

I put the syringe down for just a moment and looked
beside me, analyzing the plastic cuff with a familiar name
before deciding that I’ll stay.
******* coward anyway;

A tree swaying in the middle of the concrete jungle.

Isn’t it funny how an earth-bound drink
modifies our cones into brilliant saturation
and burns our circuits, showers with anticipation?

Well I think it’s funny when the days link
with the invisible individuals in demonstration
of lacked existence while shouldering the cold. They all take a drink,

we all take a drink, and we all never think
when the answer is held in mused assimilation.
                                                                                      Take another drink

of one that jitters; one that’s sync’d.
Jackhammers in our heads amidst deprivation
showering acid rain in our circuits,      down the burning drink!

My ******* agitation forces this alliteration
on the lack of restraint on the dull of saturations.
My soul castigates my being not to         cradle and devour the drink,
My body, my circuits, hardwired to anticipation.