But then, in that instant of plastic smiles and disco rain, I strode away from my first cradle. The air was northern and sliced my lungs open into startling clarity sliced my brain open into startling clarity. And when I looked around, I saw, and when I felt around, I touched. My trunk was slapped into shape, and in a blazing radio tower of language it became un-unique. I fuzzed my skull and rejected the lull and became recognizably human.

And while school strobed by in a prosthetic ferris wheel, I jazzed to a different beat. 'Cause my friends were kids, but neon dashed through my veins; playing saxophone with irrational exuberance. I woke every sunrise with an occupation syncopation: they breathed air while I smelled bass guitar solos in the sultry breeze blowing by the office's oasis. And paper is a flimsy wall for desire, and I never could read a point twelve sized STOP. I spread my arms and heart-orchestrated yearnings in the moon-clouded evening in the mist-drenched night in the raindrop-fresh awakening, but grey can't do but see only grey. And neon doesn't come in that shade.

No food but life no air but life no life but life. That advertisement sky is still looking at me, but I can see with my off-beat eyes that it was never a smile, but a frown of grim satisfaction. I was just looking at it upside-around. But my hair is people-colored, and my breath is derby muted, and no one puts money in my can. And then I looked around and saw, and then I felt around and touched, and then I

Those glass windows melted and gaggled themselves across my tongue, spewing honeyed drops on my flaring trombone soliloquies! My vision spiraled into a black pond of bebop and my lids and lashed fainted: up up and away into the fading light of day.

It's a pity about the posies,
All ashen and planet-like, controlling
The leftover rubber bits of love
Erasing emotions of waking up warm with her
Solemnly slumbering form
When we pluck those mornings and sink our teeth into them.
And

Their wavy stems ballet up from the earth
Blooming into fragile pink tufts like *******.
But now their fragrances tell jokes
Without the punchlines:
Long narratives ultimately pointless.
(The priests and rabbis come to you from their bars
Collars choking and tallit suffocatingly wrapped round their heads)
And

The snake,
Slithering from thousands of years of pop culture
Roots himself in the apple orchards
To hide the answers in her *******
And

Dairy farms grow up from there
And their milk runs down your sloppy chin
And in your teeth as you violently suckle
And in the tangled paths of your veins as you
Ask yourself why you even bother trying
When enslaved by a free world
.

The devil's speech say they:
Rolling, clattering, frolicking, hungry.
Billows of charred skeletons embrace the air
Black soot pumped straight from the pyres of Hades
Congealing to clouds of evil intent wherever it roam.
That charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.

In the coughing desert
Not a thing dares roam
Neither wind nor creature
And neither stick nor stone.
But then the silence disturbed by a horrible shriek -
The railway screams in horror and the train itself speaks, saying
   "Tell me, thou innocent,
       Why feel you special and best?
   For when all is done I take you
       And return you to my nest;
   Your world is bright and happy
       Full of high spirits and song,
Though soon you too shall step aboard
       And join my faceless throng."

Hot saliva on the heaving engines:
Weeping, groaning, ghostly, parched.
Rusted joints spewed onwards grinding resisting
Movement spat out like a violently beaded string of curses
Sloppily uttered as incantations of a malformed mouth!
From that charred old shell so terse,
Black as sadness and dead as a hearse,
Darling to death as he brings on the rain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.

That dark train cries out and all around
A mourning whimper rises like slumbering fog-
Bleak and yellow it obscures the land
Seeping out insidious in strange locales all:
The old lonely fisherman
Sleeping on his wharf,
The frustrated hawker's
Windblown barefaced booth,
Silent streets crying for attention,
Dark places hidden at the corner of every eye.

That solemn train cries out and all around
Her mourning whimper rises like harrowing fog
Calling all to upright attention and fear.
Looming like a spectre but a breath-span from your window
Slowly closing cold dread claws-
Naked numbness dumb as ice-
Cold dread claws upon thy waist.
And you,
You poor old thing,
Shivering in your pitiful shack of bones,
You never had any chance!
You were only human.
You were only human, you poor old thing.

Barreling on with brimstone slang:
Clang clang! Dang dang! Beelz Bub!
Sputtering an ocean of curses from turgid goat-flesh
Born of sadness to cause even more, yawning great maw
Jowls clanking with fresh hot oil drool steaming stark and lewd, and yet
That charred old shell so terse,
Blacker than sadness and slain like a hearse,
Is all that gives meaning to our every gain:
The dry rolling thunder of the funeral train.

Lost lips part like the eye-opening sun horizon,
An advent recalling the misty memory of june's air
Brightening the hills in our bedsheets with autumn leafed patterns.
In the places where my vision lines meet His rays, there extends
A celestial sonic boom, peeling back the layers
Of what once was evening.

The darkening spheres of my face bathe in the sigh
Of your whisperingly swaying lily wrist
Wrapped ubiquitously in red and blue longitude lines in pale skin veil.
Wandering lonesome in one, I know, is blood pumped
From my own otherwise aimless arteries - beating the passing seconds
On their dancing pump-drums and announcing them
Like guests at a party.

And softly, beyond the cavernous mouth hole of our comfortless comforter
Two legs entangled like taffy, teased and stretched at Separation
And his cruel scythe-like thought summons. And
My eyelashes know they can only bow to you three more times
Before Apollo arrives and the two of you elope
Off down the mountain.

So:
I found the space where
- in "where" -
The letters meet each other
And giggle awkwardly because they don't get each others jokes.
You see:
The reason we don't understand our dreams
Is that language is a

Stunning blonde
With red pouty lips
And a seductive smile
That everyone knows is easy
And no one honestly cares how smart she is.

But if I stood up at the podium
(brushing away the sawdust and dandruff from
the last guy who talked about
tax cuts
or some other *******)
And looked deep into your eyes
So closely that our irises mixed
And I said to you
"   "

(well,)
You and I,
We'd be the sea and sky.