Moss covered women
beggin' fog man
to grip a cig
from their tangled wigs
(a snarl of emerald branches
& voodoo masks
with plastic flasks,
they grave loot from caskets
& trash.)

Raunchy regulars
calling loogies to duty.

I've been livin' in a tumble ****,
with a doctorate for wildebeest.

Some lust driven,
mechanical, force bit my heels with
Her.
A skeleton scatters digitally
& opal curls fold and rally;
like the ribbons
I ripped
off
& fed to the floor boards,
records gawk at the
floral four chords.
Corridors with meat lords
& siphons at the doors
of my poor
endurance.

Lather me in mollusc glue
& beach chairs;
I will win this war for you.
Will the bulky books
teach me more
than the feverish looks?
A question to a bronze haired
child,
transparent
as the parents.
Telescopic looking glass
with the basket of the teeth
we've lied through
set aside where I reside:
A coral cave with my liquid
aluminum hunches.
Playing chess in the nest
that I built with
spit & twigs
from another clown
with a different wig.

The hippy who screamed
at his flower.
It was Halloween
& the malt made me assault
a Queen.

They sell all kinds of spices where
she's from.
Humiliated.
Embarrassment
polymerizes
a sludgy squid
body of mine,
thrashing in a salt water soaked,
choked,
electric chair.
I haven't ever resorted
to paving a silk idea
with shark printed
carpet since the ancients.

A tombstone fridge.

I knew it was that gypsy
on your shoulder
talking on the telephone.
Gun street girl,
riding rusty
in a cyclone.
Cologne
scented gherkins,
flirting,
while her man is slurping jerky.

I'm a turtle who lives in the desert
because he hates the English language.

The moon sizzles like an aluminum
cutlass,
playing jazz scales with its
arthritis knuckles.
Finger tip mallets strike
the ebony piano keys
With a lazy,
Chocolate, precision.
Tickles your spine
like sardines
&
cereal.

You can't survive
off Coca Cola
&
crickets.

Washing down nicotine burps
with slurps
of listerine.
Pearl lipstick layers like
sediment over
those festering trenches
where blisters whistle.
Machine gun lung curls
like a basilisk
around his flaccid fist.
Failure to plant a seed.

I left my attention
inside one of those bored hours
spent with you.

I want it back.

Laying on the saline scale beach,
barren,
staring at those vaguely African trees
while the breeze
claps with their leaves.
They applaud the
Tesla bitten thunderstorm
brewing on another shore,
its tar black clouds,
sticky with tobacco residue
&
plasma spit, flaunting
In the salty starlight.
& here we are.
Tangled in each other.
Tripping over lips
&
tumbling over mumbles,
we try desperately to vocalize
the scene that has comfortably
Presented itself.
Oh how that galactic beast
threw itself over the countryside,
skulking in southern wind
like a cliche heartbeat
running on urea
and ***** electricity.

We hoard our secrets
for nights like these.