I am the dreamer
From the other side of a galaxy
Whose dream is of the dreamer
Sleeping, sprawled out in a young lady's
Victorian boudoir, snoring ignored on this
Chemically imbalanced meeting place of
Her own dream
Walking on the sea
Sleeps with his eyes open
Her wild eye child
Made an enemy of gravity all the while
Too far gone entwined  with infinity
She dreams of my return to ME
Dare I wish such a dream come true?
Break forth like tiny claws ripping fragile egg
Shells
It is me, flying like a rocket angel
Got my sights on Saturn and Jupiter
It is me, flung away like aborted children
This tunnel is necessary
You will never reach the moons of Jupiter
Without a week in the mud
You won't know what's in that mud
You won't know what's on those moons
That's enough work for 2 year
Close your eyes and go back to dream
Yes, perchance to dream
Of the future of the known universe
Of worms, hungry worms
Worms dreaming of men dreaming of worms
Those same dreaming worms feasting on men
Those same dreaming men feasting on worms
All but one of them truly surprised by how tasty these worms are
The worms, however, are not as impressed with the human flesh, generally dismissed as
"Tastes like chicken"

I'm a sad excuse for a ******
I ain't consistent enough
I called you here, why I don't know
You just both seemed so tough
And you both sang like gurus
From the land of the east
Chanting your Hare Krishna's
I always thought it was neat
You said you should start chanting
Cuz if you go while you are
You're gonna go straight to Godhead
Comin' back as a star

Yes, I'm a sad excuse for a wild man
My profile's way too low
And I wear the shoes of a large man
I wear a large man's clothes
Got mechanisms of torture
Stuff that'll scare you cold
I'll whip 'em out and I'll use 'em
If you ever get out of control
I'll put the wheaties in the bowl
I'll feed the newbies and the trolls
I used to live for rock and roll
But now that world has wrecked my soul
Yes you can bet that world killed my soul


Oh, I'm a bad excuse for a dead man
All that breathing gives me away
I can't convince nobody, nobody
My eyes move in my face

Thank you Mister Morrison
But I think we got the wrong Mister Morrison
I said
Thank  you Mister Morrison
But I think we got the wrong Mr. Morrison

By the time he wrote those words
his soul had sprung a leak
the best he had to offer
long ago had seeped into the ether

He put pen to paper
but the emptiness mocked him
dared him to write a single word
he knew to be true

It would be the first
though words had flown through him
blood to a punctured vein
from the days when his heart was strong

By the time he wrote those words
the needle fluttered on "E"
the last drops, too precious to waste
he knew they'd be the last

The first to admit they never "got him"
with his too-deep jumble of esoterica
he took comfort in the hope that death would bring them understanding
if he couldn't change the world surely the world would change for him

On the day he wrote those words he realized
the sacrifices he made for his art
all but the last were pointless
there's no getting around impermanence

With shaky hands and weak gripping fingers
taking up the paper's challenge he wrote those words
"I am..."
in an instant Truth slayed him

Subsumed into the primal substance
a thief no more
unconcerned at last with being
forgotten

Yes, sir, I kissed her
On the mouth in the back of the bus
It was dark so I reached over and touched her
In a place where my fingers had never felt before
You bet your life, I kissed her
And guess what? She kissed me back
I 'bout had me a heart attack
When I felt her tongue on mine

She always has your eyes, darling one
It's how I know it's true
That there will never be another one
Who can do the things you do
No matter who she is
My, love, she always has your eyes
For your eyes are her eyes
It's not a surprise

Yes, sir, it hurt when she left me
I ain't ashamed to admit
Wonderin' how long until she'd forget me
You're ******* right she'll forget
You're best served with the truth, my foe
There's a lot you'll never know
So much I'll never tell you
For now it's time to go...

...go along, little dove, move along the straight and narrow. Bring along your bow and arrow. It's a small gate and few are the wasted who have tasted it's taste then wasted it's a band of jobless ruffians walking in a straight line, eyes locked straight ahead and determined to arrive at their destination. Dressed in monk's robes, their attire was not the only thing about them which conjured the appearance of a band of Tibetan's finest.
     Make haste! Go along, sweet caterpillar of the dawn. Gather your spawn and meet us on the backyard lawn. Make it quick, make your move, make every guitar pickin' note count. This is your time, La Penguin, it is the dawn of your destiny. The pawn of the mystic's I have placed upon a square I am not legally entitled to inhabit, figuring you would not notice it and even if you did you might not realize I was playing the match illegally. Royal eggs hatch regally, they are a meal of value and worth.
     Plath's dead voice recites her own poetry in the 74th century throught the medium of streaming music, which is every man's birthright. The inhabitants of this far off century are each and every soul well versed in song and voice, rythmn and melody, the poignant lyric in the third verse or during the chorus, their collective history was the culmination of thousands upon thousands of years totally absorbed in every aspect of MUSIC. To say they worshipped music would be to stop somewhat short of being the absolute truth but we listen anyway, we always do, good morning, I am the voice in your head. Have you finally befriended me? Finally accepted me and maybe even appreciated me? Regardless. I am the voice in your head. Do you want to know whose voice is in MY head? That's right: YOURS! Do you think this makes me any happier than the prospect of my being the voice in your head it's complicated, I'll grant that. But now that you're on a roll, what say we write some more crap poetry?

Try not to rhyme
No one does that anymore, that's reason enough
Yes, there is a secret meaning behind all this
You were not on my mind when I wrote this crap
If things had gone my way I could be making excruciatingly
Joe, where you going with that gun in your hand?
I love all you *******, I really do
Some of you are genuine artists
Some of you can't write for ****
But that don't make it bad, does it?

Who is she?
She was a worm that crawled in your ear
One summer night while you slept in bed
Dreaming of the day your son
Shot you in the head
Then left you for dead
Wake up, David, wake up!
Fear not the tarantula, David, wake up!
For his bite doth not ****

...go along, feline substitute, your portmanteau is waiting. where are those people now who were so recently uncharitable? They've all been little boys before, every soldier in the field, every face behind bars, they've all had baths and someone to dry them off. Surely this must be? I am too wasted to go on.

Naya kudro. Reo o hart bonite. Rega in gavida, gavida. E qualid plea, senior away cast them in fee, el mquee.
Hula sona karay. Shis attune heh, hey hey, the grinavorte, honeas delong. O, fate be a queen. Allah's mortal today. The name. I don't want a name. Oh, no. The glad. Uh, uhhhhhhhh, uh, I'm madalam...you know....it's grand.......these sandwiches, they're grand.........beam me up, Scotty, you know the rest of the joke........Just like drums in an African rainforest, glistening with moisture, the rain mixing up the rythmns as drops make contact with skin. .........holding in past for the trial........coming in a car.........what a................you run, you running so much higher, climbing on a wire, you know..........you run, you running so much faster and now you're...........holding in past for the time......holding and caring for strange..........what catches your eye.........

I only thought I was too wasted to go on.
But this time
It's a for sure deal
I
am
too
wasted
to
continue

...to be continued

All the answers are in a book
A terrifying tome few understand
I can see these are the answers
Though I'm not ready to surrender to them
How many times have I read this book
Closed its covers feeling condemned
The meeting of sacred and profane too much
The rebellion spawned leads many to skepticism
But stubborn me, I know there's a neutron bomb hiding in there somewhere
One day I'll dive in after a hiatus
See that bomb floating with the flotsam and jettison of all my days
Like it's already detonated once
Or a second time many years ago
I don't suppose I'll ever learn
No, I don't like this depression
Fact is I despise it
But it lays me out flat where I can realize
I thrive in this environment
This retched realization
I don't know how to feel any other way

from high above the clouds billions of raindrops
shapeshift in free fall weightless collective vertigo
moonlight's glow casts a shimmer on the screen
blink-and-you'll-miss-it stabs of lightning
slash holes in dark clouds that reconnect with
the exhilarating, damning clash of God's displeasure
deafening earth-shaking thunder one after the other
I turn my music down so I can hear the din
all the windows in this hail-washed house have drapes drawn apart, shades rolled up
so I can watch the majestic display and pray
for a tornado to swing by just close enough
for me to gaze at but so faraway as to assure no damage to my observatory

these storms call to mind
secrets, reminisces surprising, in their own personal way terrifying

knew a dude in high school
found out too late he was the go-to man for controlled substances in those days
this kind of weather would send him to the phone
dialing Rhonda's number and she knew exactly what the call was about
the wind that swirled 'round the eye told her
she hit the ignition in the cute cherry red Ford truck he'd given her and braved the storm until she made it to his house

maybe it was an adolescent power trip
the sensation he felt through his ***** when the thunder spoke
then when it screamed he ******
she melted, the explosive crash drowning out the involuntary gasp which escaped through clinched teeth, the precursor to secret tears she seemed to have no control over
pitch dark, intermittent lightning strikes to illuminate the Storm King sprawled out beneath her, the look of aroused determination on his face growing more elastic with the clatter of hailstones on glass windows

I never knew about the drugs, didn't need them then, though I sorely need them now
but I knew he called Rhonda every time weather turned severe
the talk amongst peers was that the two of them were never seen together in an underground shelter no matter how bad the moon may have risen
Nudge nudge wink wink a nods as good as a wink to a blind horse say no more, squire, say no more!

I envied them
I broke cheap champagne glasses when the storm came and used them
to carve snaking tendrils across my wrists
barely any blood shed but scared the *******out of that witch my dad married after mom left
it was my failsafe procedure to assure at least another month away from them
yes, the mental hospital was preferable

the rain fell ******* the Doctor's house
weatherman said tornadoes were inevitable
flipped a switch in my brain, activated a mean streak
Doctor's favorite was insufferable
brewed a gallon of sweet tea every day and drank every drop
I saw lightnin on the horizon but that Big Bad Bear with the gun he stole from the Doc was nowhere to be found
I'd be leaving soon
I took out the gallon pitcher from the refrigerator
not even cold yet
unzipped my too-tight jeans
hung my spout over the edge and turned the beverage into 1/2 sweet tea & 1/2 cloudy dark yellow *****
placed it back in the fridge and waited

sat with him that night, playing guitar, singing incomprehensible songs, watching him drink that **** tea and possessed by just enough evil to laugh
in a ridiculously high pitch and enunciated to where I knew he couldn't understand what I was saying...
I sang
"****** in yer tea you know I ****** in your tea
aren't you so ******* at me?"
he never found out, else I probably would not be here to tell the tale

I had my excuses
broken and discarded
I was lost
toyed with the idea of being a Satanist
still lost
standing outside in the middle of an electrical storm
yes, I'm afraid
I'm told family members have been killed by a well-placed bolt and if it's good enough for them
by God
it's good enough for me
rain baptizes me, too stupid to come in out of it
the thunder makes me **** and shudder
lightning a brilliant fireworks show surpassing the best available powder and fire variety
I have become part and parcel of this thunderstorm
wait only for the appointed bolt to impale me with it's rapier voltage
here he come swingin' I almost missed him what with his night-black get-up-camouflaged by the black night that tried to hide me from his sight
alas, foiled by too much lightning

voltage from the heavens
I could personally think of much worse

who sings you to sleep?
who tells you the truth?
she carries divine breath in her chest
sacred heart beats between her *******
pores dripping with soma sweat
panting, exhausted, shudder and shiver
when the cool breeze brushes up against her

did you hear it in her secret sounds?
did you recognize it, soul aglow?
in the moment when the universe imploded
when you gave in and gave it all away
she wrung it from you like water from a towel
and surrendered you to the little death
to witness her power and marvel at bliss

"is this the truth?" you have to ask
"what is the name of that song?"
it is a song without a name, different every time
it is a truth that all forget the moment after it's revealed
for in these bodies and with these minds
we could never comprehend and live
with such a joy eternal