I cannot really it explain,
but I can give it
one helluva try.
It's a million (or more)
fuschia-pumpers,
the spilling of hemoglobin
& red corpuscles,
broken bones
bleached white,
lying in the sun.
And streams of blue
tumbling from
the duct-factory
& the silent
green fields.

Thin nylon strands
had us connected,
tethered together,
tiny living
specks
moving
like frozen molasses.

Certain death
was evident
on both sides
of the knife-edged ridge
with jagged
rocky bottoms.

We were mesmerized
by the curvature
& witnessed
falling stars
whistling past
our wool-capped heads.

Up there,
near Heaven
we were so alive,
more alive
than
the
dead
walking
down here
at sea level
witnessing nothing
(but mass media &
fake reality shows).

Sometimes it was easy,
like a cake walk.
They'd sparkle green
in the moonglow,
and we'd light 'em up,
mow them down.
All the technology
in the world
could not
drown out
their screams.
That was hard.

I want to be,
I want to be
your personal snail,
slither my tongue
up your spine,
so divine you are
as I cover,
I kiss,
every nook and cranny,
both elbows and knees,
the back and front
of your neck.
Geez,
down I slide
in between your
delicious *******,
then all the way
around
to your pool.
And there
refreshed,
I begin
to leave my trail
up
your gorgeous back,
shell-less
again.

My fingers
maddenly
stroke across
the letter-keys,
reproducing
my fiery thoughts
about you,
how I feel
& the acts
I want to do.
To kiss your lips
for an eternity,
and to trace
your beautiful form
forever
drives me
to the brink
of raw,
pure,
primordial creativity.
It's hard,
like granite,
these images imbedded
deep,
deep,
deep
inside my mind.
You intertwined,
wrapped around
my genetic impulses,
a ball of ions,
slapping me
into submission
& I release,
I release,
I release in spasms,
these multiple emissions.
Beautiful tokens
of my love for you,
unspoken
& electrical.
Do you ever think about me...
electronically?

Master Samurai
grimaces palefaced
& rows
toward me
over the blue *****,
bringing
his thunder.

Mister Tiger
grins toothy
& saunters
toward me
down the rocks
wearing his
pin-striped-camo.

Magical Red Dragon
grits his fangs
& floats
toward me
through
the grey clouds,
clutching vengeance.

Sweet Miss Butterfly,
with her brilliant blue
winged-coat,
*****
her iridescence
in a stream,
all over
my sweaty face.

I am surrounded by power,
I have no worries here,
I am the king of down dog.

They tortured me at the university.
They poured gallons of whiskey down my throat,
made me study boring subjects long into the night,
surrounded me with beautiful doll babies,
and lectured me until I was blue in the face.
The only trace that I ever existed there
are some records on microfiche
& a few faded pictures on fraternty composites
packed away,
taped shut,
in an attic box.
I still wonder if waterboarding
would have made me a genius
because the other methods
certainly didn't work.