you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

i made supplication
to my heart
to my very heart

thudding and flopping
chambered
apart

i prayed to the flesh
how the spirit gives way
i set up my altar
i found beasts to slay

i asked only that
the beat would go on
my glistening, grinding
red ***** song

but the flesh made no answer
as if by design
the Universe tune
is ever so fine

i smashed up my idols
i burned up my books
i cast to an early grave
the high and proud looks

and the Universe met me there
and It said, “I’m Alive”
and It beat like a steady heart
that was keeping good Time

and It entered pact with me
a civil cease-fire
after It had destroyed me
and a new breath inspired

i’m cutting my ties again
i’m burning those old bridges
around the world and home again
i’m making decisions

i insist on suffocating slowly
still
    i refuse to die
    imposing my will to weakness
    avoiding applying the "why"

implications are closing in, oppressive
my mind is open, fluid
suggestive
interposing meaning and form with
    the spoken and written letter

the light source filtered through all this
            wreckage
  the squeaking moving in, oppressive
  regressive, the way my vantage remains
a disjointed unit-whole

you persist, and i suffocate quickly
you ask so nicely for me to die
deposing my God ****** will to power
why do i seem to avoid the "apply"?

THE SYMBOL ON MY HAND IS BURNING

    into the flesh, and back out from inside
illuminates Prison, a chasm, a prism
dividing a spectrum of impossible light

we wholly refract the soma, the psyche
The Panic transforms into beauty inane
compulsion, obsession, redemption, addiction
we know we're alive    
                      we perpetuate pain

all together
with numbers and rulers we form
circles in playgrounds like schoolgirls

with jump ropes and all with short sing song rhymes
short, and now shorter, now shorter
like ozone

with long life hum whispers and all with eyes
like lacking

every line bears this weight
clumsy truth, crucifix-like
and in bearing alone, they are born

up and sing
on the wings of those demons we've seemingly seen
to be
descending
one ladder inverted
where once Jacob had torn
down his alter
in anger, in the dry place where we left the vision

i am the man who weeps for the world
i am the man who weeps

i do not, I will not
bleed for the world
i’m not the one who bleeds

little sister, my love
do not dry your eyes on my account

i am a fleeting consolation

i have been
to the ends
of the world
i have seen
the great emptiness (it lies)
on the other side of that horizon

blessed are the fools
who call themselves fools
for others will call them wise

blessed are those who cry out to the world with stammering tongues
crouching aching and sweating
over endless lines of gibberish that fall like drum beats from the tips of their frantic pens
for they will be called Earnest

blessed are the ones who suffer withdrawals
dope-sick
shaking and sweating
desperate for a drink or a fix
for I will make them High indeed!

blessed are the ****** “deviants”
cast away by the “holy” as unclean
for they know that no man or woman may call unclean
anything that God has declared clean

Blessed are those who shake their fists in rage
at the heavens, cursing them
for they will dance in the pouring rain