with my fairy tales exhausted. i had my wits about me.
like huffing glue on real problems.
the sticky-wickets and whatnot.... that gather through me.
like a trojan-horsehair medallion -
at the end of a rope. Or a ray
of  " No ".

A Spot of Bother that May Be Scotch -
Or Maybe Not... but the rot boggles.
the way decay and Seasons agree on everything.
how you can't stop writing letters
to imaginary patrons
and lost mice.

' awake '  is a maze
in a deeper sleep
and i wonder...

then i wonder
some more.

this could hurt and it will.
it drags your bones
under your skin
leaves you naked
in the droning love
you’re drowning
so blissfully
in
it spells your name
without vowels
and leaves a dagger
to fill them in
you dress the wound
but remain naked
in the fire
of your
sin
you know the words
but they’re gone
you say them anyway
and nothing happens
then you say
them again

old habits.

Varicose Honey Farm in infrared 'elan
a siren's charm exuviates the rim
Of Karma
Where the Rift is harmless, If Harmless -
Is belladonna~
Omni-Colic-Rictus
gets an expert Witness
With a Degree in Soft Spin
And your Lips.

Someone in my skin gets out of bed to spawn

an iron lung, to extricate the wind
of Mantras -
Where the Risk is constant, If by Constant
you mean " Oxicodin "....
Drizzled over pixels of a Thought in Progress ~
Half Forgotten.

My Net collects the alabaster Parasols
A Dandelion lost To a Dog's breath


I put them back.
I put them back.
I put them back.

In a dipsy village on the outskirts of Hopenhagen  
i did tend to my ******* sheep and stub my toe on everything.
apparently.... that's what god wants. so i deserve pie.
to this very day, i believe the logic is sound...

like a hammer striking the shadow of a Bell.

like a rope in a spoon... nothing is sane.
i just have the scent of you and our unbearable togetherness
to fall apart too... i have nothing else.

so just in case i hate you; let's be friends.

sleeping as i do... i don't.
too much about awoke and such...
weary yes... but stumblesome -
in happy ways about it.

climbing out' the sky
for strange candy
is the ground

to doubt it.

i was black in your face today, and the world kept to itself.
spinning and rigidly doomed, rigidly doomed -
without the slightest epiphany. just a gorgeous glut
of stupendous stupidity.

i was black in your face today, and white things happened all over the world... and nothing changed. I bit my nails and stared at the sun like a Boy. I have no kingdom save the revery of my blood
and my much often love of empty spaces.

no more Breakfast tumbling out of a Hornet's basket.
just soft thorns and gossamer wounds. only the ravens that kismet.
only the coffin cuff-links; and the splendid Pit.
only the margin for Errors beyond
your Religion...

and the woe of it.

i cannot begin. i've already started.
now i'm staring into space.
i can't see where i'm going for all the being there.
like a forest and a tree
exchanging a Polaroid
for methadone.

and a stone compass...

a compass that never believed in True North.
so it spins.

in the morning, the crisp air crept on bacon feet
over the lettuce rumpus of my disheveled blankets -
tossing out the dreams of the night before...
boycotting the revelation at hand
at the foot my bed...

where yawning is sacred.
and well fed.

but memory is vague.
and just a boy.

I love the night...although its so silent my ears hurt
and there's nothing to be done about it. and i still get mail.
it's just empty and brittle. envelopes of undisclosed, declaring -
" I live Somewhere that mail Arrives..."
and I don't count on anyone
because everyone, is the Other night.

every one.

the night.

the sheer mechanics of having a prayer, is far beyond the scope of mortal men.
we have our doubts. and our envy. and we flock to joy -
if there be Love.

born in the middle of all possible worlds. we dwell amongst ourselves, like savage ghosts.
we float upon the most empty. conjuring our heavens in a frenzy of denial.
our hells have wings,

and who but one of you; could have ever thought of such a thing ?