Moment
of clarity
in the devil's voiced belly.

In the
fog
of
stomach acid
and girls.

A shivering slick
of beer
held strobe lights
in a sad way.

People bumped into me
and maybe
I bumped back,
but the
religion of the slick
was
greater than human.

The fog
swallowed
me
whole.

distilled me.

energized me.

focusing only on the slick
on the dance floor.

I knew loneliness.

I knew hollow.

I finally grasped
the inner lining
in my teeth.

Finally
I was alone.

And truthfully, unimportance is
the lowest feeling.

I shoved some guy
into the dj booth
and
started swinging.

This is the beat
for the future.

Slow.

Continuous.

Quick in paces.
Slow in the right
places.

The bassline of the future
should be love.

Let's make it as slow and continuous as our ideals have said it would be.

In the last moments
of the world
let every man kiss every man
every woman kiss every woman
every love see love.

Fuhreal,
let's take love
to a whole new level.

Let's make it so beautiful
that we stop killing cockroaches
and poaching
the god's green broaches of branches
full of howler monkeys
howling for conservation against the parasitism
that man has become accustomed to.

The first time
**** all the money
I don't have.

****
all the clout
i never earned.

I'd take her in my room,
feel her *****,
give her a tingling
of my tongue.

I'll put my whole mouth
in it.

I love eating
*****.

I love eating
her fears
for the first
time.

Like I'm the first
that ever did it.

I take  it in
mouthfuls.

Drunk love is the best love.

No inhibitions.
No dispositions.

If a girl is drunker than
me
I believe
in taking her back
to
her crib.

I'm not some male feminist,
but she gotta be
on my level
in order to ****.

Kiss her on the doorstep.

Tongue and all that good ****.

Lead her back to her bed.

Lay her down.

And leave with a whole bunch
of not actualized *** in my *****
because
I got standards.

I don't know how to get close to a girl.

I can look at her"
Listen.
Remember.
Regurgitate.
Affirm.
Re-affirm.
Console.
C­onsort.
Combat.

But I can't get close to her.
Tell her things like
Meyer's definition of
Fear:
Being too much of something;
Something that the female didn't previously realize was in
the Meyer.
Something that makes the female smile in an
awkward and puzzled way,
a smile previously used in different contexts,
but she has never smiled at
the Meyer
using it;
the female never thought she could come close to
or
would have to
use it,
the Meyer previously seemed
transparent.

You see,
there is something in
the Meyer,
something
crawling
and wet
and in a cave right above
his pelvis
but
below
his
rib cage.

Sometimes
the creature
comes out
of
the Meyer's
mouth
and let's its name
be known.

Me and the homies
built
up
a foundation of beer bottles in the corner of the living
room
that slide
down
when we play our music.

It's a pyramid
of transparent brown
******* bodies.

We stick our tongues into mouths
that will never fully be
ours,
and throw each new brick in the corner
with a clink,
*******
our
pants
and waking
up
in
entrail pools
of their digested innards the next morning.

A brown shimmer
like flashlights on the lake
bounces off them
bumping against our hips
and
mesmerizes
our upper thighs
and
inner groins.

I had a dream
about
Contact 16.

We were above
the green planet
and the two moons
watched with us
as
the black flower of death
spread
over
Uris
like
agitated silt
in a slow
murky cloud.

We reached earth
and there
were a thousand yous.

A thousand people
that looked just like you
and
the thousand yous
destroyed me.

A thousand
of them
so close to me,
and those thousand people
didn't notice
that I was devouring them
slowly
taking
vital peices of them
and incorporating
them
into me.

Becoming
an amorphousness.

I have devoured sixteen already.