bestow my grips with candid strength
i quench and i quench but
the thirst always returns
if I could lift this libidinous weight
i would only return it to my shoulders

i will rub the liniment of self-made into my soul or else i get the hose again

coral and porous
i walk spotless through anemones
and crystalline sea floor forests

allergic to tree ***** and tiny green armies of self-propagating space dust

inimitably flippant
bourgeoisie teetotalling kommandant
gone in a puff of turmeric
lifted to the world of spirits like a vestibule on a scissor-lift

sometimes i think i see the bubbles of the infinities in-between things
but i don't
i have brain trauma

i'm the hirsute nectarine man
i speak soft streams of exegesis phonemes
i've got the mob in my hand,
they've got the cops in their pocket
hand me the cash! hand me the cash!
i'll take over the world!
i wanna get high!
i want my legs to be hundreds of feet long
and my **** to swing around my knees!
shove it in your face! shove it!
i am the archon!
i am the agelessness of ontology!
i watched the moutains crumble to dust
and i laughed, and i pressed the big red button!

my nightmare isn't any dreaming place
it's heaven on earth
what a wonderful world
where the sicknesses can come to play
where the tommy's and dandy's can frolic
and all the cats can get ******
and the warlords all chortle
and the bric-a-brac is never stolen!

i live in an amusement park
my soapbox is full of holes
but they just let the sun shine in
on the flowers i've planted at my feet

the anti-siren alarm song
collapses the dimensions of the oneiric realm,
fidgeting infinitesimally,
the tangled engine of acidic tubes
combusts last nights pepperoni bacon chorizo pizza

all of sparta trembles
stalagmites shake loose and dust the bedclothes,
cemented eye-lashes decalcify and split,
as two stumbling gargantuan steps
off the promontory of your bed
lead an unguided hand to the light-switch

the florescent hum gnaws at you
a singular parameter in the speaking mind's running mouth
“caffeinate me”

a hill, no, a mountain, no, a sheer abyss
'the stairs', a godly ascent
an ascent for winged creatures of light
creatures with legs for arms, zeppelin-like centipedes
legs whose construct are Dalían,
nightmarish vaulting apparatuses,
whose step is a bound and whose bound is a flight,
as if all of the thirteen foot-tall steps become cliffsides
and all of the cliffsides become interdimensional worm-holes
as the distance between two mustard seeds grows
and exceeds the circumference of the universal ellipse
we see our premonitions are of infinite potentiality.

resignedly, we take the first step
the next twelve follow succinctly.

we reach the ochre chamber of caffeine
only to be halted by a question
a sempiternal question,
a question of mythic, unverifiable stature
a plaguing question,
a question rooted
in our achey-breaky hearts and nigh-arthritic bones,
rooted in the seeping pathos
of our ritualized morning zombie-shuffle:
but it doesn't get asked today, we drink coffee
the world is right-side up again.

the watermelon strikes an evening match
and crows a-roostin' on the adirondack
what wipporwill wouldn't ire o' that
with dungaree vest and wacky tobacc'