All is Nothing
Nothing is All.

"Is"  is  "Is"
And  "Is"  is not  "Is not"
For "Is  not"   is  "Is  not"

and vice versa.
Or versa vise.

For versa vice is its own
vice versa.

Hover sweet Heather, over the clover, under the thunder of the insect dragon.
Heal sweet Heather, heal the hurt, remove the dirt from my beer sausage; from my wretched, twisted and demented circuitry.

"Bring me my hot dog" my dear Debbie moans.
Morbid sighs, silken thighs, conceal the African butterfly.

"Buffy, Buffy , roughy toughy" the bit*h barks to her demanding dog friend.
"Buffy, Buffy, I've had enoughy!"

Painted lips, spill over hospital white. Chunks and hunks. Flotsam and jetsam of yesterdays lunch.

"Shaddap Shaddap!" her gray head shakes, quivers and quakes,
dispelling myths of flying flakes.
Dispersing moths, displaying snakes.

The constraints of excessive propriety.
The friction, the pressure,
the itching pleasures of the harness.

By these means the bounds of the self impart pleasure,
by such means  the illusion of self is given libidinal support.

But I am tired, it is late.
The flashing colored lights
and ethereal sounds can wait.

So free the hand!
Free the stylus!
Remove the harness.
Let the animals
run rampant!

Boring buffaloes  salute the salamander.

Baboons, buffoons, rule the work lizard.

Will the scale male parade its  green and gold in utter abandon?

With its teeth and slime and parking meters sublime--
make claim to its birthright in space and time?

A parade of corn marches past.

Christ a Jew?
Who are you?  the mayonnaise replies.

Vegetable verbiage crackles and squeaks.

As the elastic and garlic tumble,
in delirious and elongated *******;
The horseman looks on, but cannot perform.

The saddle worn.

Testicles torn.

A **** born.

Yet, naked stands the fortune fox.
Red eye and silver lox.
Bride of the future,
Surgical suture.

The apple of time.
Wretched sublime.

As I open the door,
a coldness pours over my body.

My mind is racing.

Should I run,
Should I try to resist.

And even though i know it's not possible,
I swear I can hear the ice cream giggling.

I once  had a spice garden.
Now I have none.

I think it was to much sun.