Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo.
The oranged-pink hue of the sunshine
                                        feeds me mellow.
Head on the road ’n’ off the rodeo,
        Blakey on the radio — “Please give me
                               a pretty overdose with othello dayglow”
Mansions mate with motorhomes. Methane skies gas burnt-out residents.
Tiredthoughts&drymouth; Think it’s a drought—
                                                             Could be a pestilence.
       “****, it’s too hot out
                                  for the middle-of-September!..Ach-urr!”
I cough&choked on a memory—Remember-
                                                ­            ing youth’s relentless attention
                                                       ­ to nothing in particular but
                                                             ­   its boundless pursuit of every-
                                                        th­ing in-between.

I used to look to the Blue and think I’d float away
                                  but
             that’s when I believed in miracles.
Nowadays, reality has no sympathy just a noose — tighter leash,
                       anchored soles to a meanconcretecaprice
                                                with
                                 no abstract release — (still)
I drive ‘round Podunk & keep away from po-lice.

I stop in the corner-market
    to cop some energy&fillup on gasoline;
    at the pumps
tilt my bushy-brunette crown back to admire
            the delicious slices of tangerine evening-sky
                  topped by thick whippingcream clouds...
...Remiss though;
     futile, in wild aims to pause Time
                   and repossess my myself: immobilized
          I was separated from body centuries ago
                                   & today (i) continue
                                    a microstep behind (my) experience...
...Wait inside my 99 Suzuki Esteem
        cigarette cherried, Brubeck on NPR;
Waiting for my man, he’s always late.
                   Waiting, so I can buy it.
                   then smoke it.
                   then hide myself;
          Stow-ed a-way
& it’s almost fall,
        I find peace in the fallen leaves,
           the stoic desperation in the liberation
              of those sweet Autumn trees.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia is a solitary perfume;
         let it take the wheel&lead the way —
I can see silhouettes
         through the fog of cigarettes, hologram faces.
Drive ‘round town over bridges I forgot to burn
            and
      instead, just let decay...

Drive ‘round town — let
        the music choose my destination, let
                                       the rhythm lead the way, let
               the groove shake the memories loose.
Sometimes I drive for hours, sometimes
                                                I let my mind wander for days.
Sometimes I roll the world on my tongue,
                                                sometimes­ I have nothing to say.


Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                         color my contempt;
       Deadwood&drygrass&nomoneyforent.
                  Sanity is counted in dollars&cents
       & This place always stinks like ****.

I love the beauty of the lake
                                 but
                            I hate what it reflects.
Hushed earth-tones and
                pastel humanity,
Vanity injected with a tie-around-the-neck.

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                 keeps me from sober.
        The sun feeds my head
                                 and the roads are now my owner.
“**** it’s too cold out
                                 for the middle-of-October!”

Hushed earth-tones
                        and pastel humanity;
Blush'd guru trance O how petty I’ve be-come!
 ... isolation is intoxicating.
           “No more, no more…”
I’m already dumb,
           Shouldn’t I be happy?

Drive ‘round town; Nostalgia
                                        color me voodoo,
                the faded twilight feeds my melancholy;

In spring I plant my harvest in fall I reap the seeds.

Nothing much else to do.

But
Drive ‘round town & let the countryside woo me.
Lived here for 15 years,
           (turns out)
nobody ever knew me.

If
i may dwell in suspension
Sweet as plum;
Solitary
searching for
emptiness, whole of
nothingness…


Zoom in:

i match the gaze of
the Infinite
Peeping Tom;
like 1000 of those
dreams where i’m
naked in public
all at once
the Big Rush
pure
pink ****
flesh
stripp’d on the ledge
of the Lotus;
Faith’s suicide jump—
-Yea! Feel the breeze
swing swing
bodhi
body
my body swing
-everlasting-
but
i always blink.

& succumb
to dead momentum
(note:reFill w/ junk-
energy&bulhoon juice)


Cut to:

(******
******
sapio ****
sapien sapien
-libido is
god is Zeus
get loose,
l o o s e)

‘You know
the freaks come out
in their moon-masques after 2am lookin’ to
drill some sense
into
that Void.’

‘Da coup de grace
to yr grace of
One.
The baboon won!’

Ascension was a bust so
i cool with a jazzhead
Sit cross-legg’d & smoke
cigarettes ’til the knife of dawn—

‘Ache like mountains old
as Death.
lust
on yr breathe
that wild dogs
can detect
20 miles west.’

Close-Up:
{Cue the music}

-O! whiskey
tears & mary-
-juana sin thesis;
Realm, bee
yond the darken’d lip
the space ab-sorbed
by the mouth
of Supernova Human ways!

Action!

Now
b’fore it stains the carpet!

i’m with Sister Joyce
&
she gon’ show me
how to keep
my iii open
to oblivion.
Make me a Re-al boy
again-
Gon’ gimme back
that body
bodhi
that body, that shell
i housed
Alexandria
She gon’ gimme back
that cure
i can’t get enough of
Once
had a plug
straight to the mainline
-if you can believe it…
the connection right to-the
MAIN SOURCE
She told me she got it anni need it

Fade to:

(Fungi
feng
shui
shady
eyes feel
like the windows
on dead asylum walls.
‘Let it Burn!’
I told ‘em,
that temple is
mad
with ill karma’)

Fade Back:

Sister,
bless me
with the Pleasure
of
Yr forgiveness—
Prostrated
at the foot
of
your magic
bind—
Heal me;
that Holy
Fluid
washaway daily hypnosis’—
Yr purple presence
is ancient
mystic limbs
cradle my Babylon
why
***** angel Souls do the
pharaoh’s dance—
Bodies swing
in One,
bodhi body
swing in One; now
twirl yr guru poetry
cryptic
round my Obliteration!

& let’s drown ourselves
in gulps of ecstasy
swallowed in-to paradise
the warm, fuzzy
nothing.

Cut to:

(Consciousness,interrupts,
Suddenly!
Lurches out of unBeing like
a madman a killer
lumbered
   over
his victim
-fresh,crystalized
real
ity; clear thru dewdrops
atop blade of grass the sweat
on damp back chill in
soberbreeze)

the Now pierces
the swelled black belly of
temporary oblivion
lightwork the stars that freckle the face
of the sky
poke-d
pin(w)holes the size of the Universe
in the bubble of In
finity
-inward
outward-
i see myself thru it
looking up…
perched in rural
everywhere
Planet nowhere
dug in the
hole
of nothingness
solitary
searching
in suspension.


FADE OUT.

Cosmic tool
never stop looking
for newfangled science
procrastinate in a future scene

“Lets be honest…”

ill-mannered to speak
of perfection
in a body so busy
w/ hypocrisy

My pain ain’t yr pain
don’t think I understand you
don’t think I ain’t care
don’t think you overstand me
I ain’t believe in victims
of society on account-a
i ain’t no perpetrator

It’s not wise to wage war
on preferences
and
dogma look silly when
you’re 25 or older

Sad to hear pragmatist
is now
the face you wear
when you have no foundation
yr mouth could talk an endless mile
of rhetorical obfuscation

Gimme change for yr hope
…O child hope is but a dream
-Life’s sure a joke heh?
-O it’s just a scream!

We need divide
like the dope need a ******-vein
blood rush concrete monkey brain
Who can we blame?

Cure the myths
and **** the idols
Don’t commoditize the truth
or fetishize our differences
No-one owns the past
No-one owns the future
W/ all the guns in Chicago
we could be free (for) tomorrow
but with all the language
in our words
we could free our heads
and make enemies
into neighbors
like Grown-Ups do

Cosmic tool
never take nothing serious
play the fool
while the world is delirious
Get-a laugh
out-a the hootin’ and the holler-in’
Such divine comedy make a man spoiled.