if i were to cut off
a piece of my flesh
or a finger
or even an ear
it would crawl
the way a slug crawls
to your house
slither into your bed
and sleep in your mouth.

i sit here and try to be still.
within minutes im a skeleton
in a wooden chair.

there is a piece of literature out there
waiting for me to inseminate it.
it lies in a gutter somewhere,
or in the woods,
with no concern for the present.
no concern for shelter.
it sits, lies, waits,
walks and paces and worries,
coping with my absense by touching itself into a shuddering cramped pile
breathing like a dog chased a car in the sun through the neighborhood
then overcome with the smell of the heat from another dog.
wet with its own slobber
it is pure temptation throbbing at the body and frothing from every hole.
its obsession is mindless.
drooling on its naked self,
dehydrating and dying.
so wet with want that if it were to find me it would jump into my healthy hands and slip right through their distracted hold;
******* the air until it hit the ground at my feet, then half consciously ******* my toes.
it is muttering my name into a blanket of leaves and trash and squirming with a fever so bright as to bury itself slowly into the soft dirt.
drowning in time.
giving sick births to an excrement of unformed consonants and concepts.
it becomes lines of light
enscribed in a holy vacuum
as i sit here making love to this-

it dies now,
in the very same moment
that i waste my seed uncaringly
on these nice young healthy words
only as a tool to help me sleep.

-Are you enlightened?
-Does a dog bark?
-Yes.
-So then, yes, you are a dog.

I sold my soul to the devil and he sold it back to me. I am $35 richer.

you are the gecko i watch
on the wall
and i gladly become a
fly into your mouth to chew
and to swallow
to become you
are the gecko
i watch
on the wall.

its like a well
inside of me
that i want to
draw from you.

a psychedelic manifestation of form;
we leave this place.
we live inside of each other,
lit by the light
of the near death
of everything;
it passes through our bodies.

time is a molecule
which we ride upon;
a play thing for children.

we grow closer
or further
from eternity-
the nature of the soul we share.
-the eight-limbed creature
sews its bodies into;
one breathes out to one breathes in.
swallow each other
back onto the floor,
and *****
our psychedelic
manifestation of form.