to the baby, and its babies:
  
   your birth,
      and the woman waiting for you;

they are waiting.



everyone, is waiting.

time, is waiting.

the sea, is waiting.

elephants, are waiting.

the cukes in the vat are waiting to be pickled..

the pickles are waiting to be traded for cash.
to become their own weight in gold.

and the money, is waiting to be buried back into the earth, as the earth sits in its own sort of waiting,
   knowing, that

even the end is waiting.

while nothing also waits for anything else besides the end.

i am three armadillos.

one that tucks and hides,
rolls away if it has to.

one, who fights and stands, rears on its haunches, exposing its softness, ready to live and to do the opposite of living.

and one who knows, it is just a fiction,
in some song or meditation or some story, who has the upper hand on its brothers,
who seem to think that they are whatever the opposite of fiction might seem to be.

The Woman-

Make naked
the thing
which covers you.

The Dress-
                        -has no soul
                    - is naked inside

I.
-peel the skin from my eyes.

You can put me
in the ground.

You can surely do that.

If you have hands,
sure

and a knife, yes.

a gun, of course.

or,
i don't know..

run me down
with your car

toss me in
a vat of acid

or maybe
train your
Lioness

to maul me

and

to eat me.

you could get inventive with it.
inventiveness is good
i'd adore you for that.

or,

well..

i'd say,
make it
an old fashioned
kind of affair.

swing a shovel
well into my head
and bury me
where i lie.

you'll want a shovel.
yes you will.
your hands,
they're ***** enough already,
i'd say.

and,
it's an awful lot of work-
those graves.

can't make em too shallow.
you don't want to hang.
cuz they'll find you.
and they'll hang you.
they can't dig enough graves
when they forge for themselves
the RIGHT to do so.

...above ground cemetery...

They make Junkyards
out of neighbors.
strangers..

-anyone..

..anyone they can CATCH!
that they can get
enough sets of HANDS on
to hold down.

To judge.

With the collective mind
of the many-headed-beast.

and you're one of the moving pieces
in that swarm of hate..

..that frenzy of Blood-thirst.

that Madness of Zombies...

You are a vital *****.
I've seen how you Pulse,
like the red in your eyes..

and,
so,

my friend.
my enemy.
I tell you this:

You can bury me,
i'll allow it.
I might flinch.
I might scream.
The body is involuntary.
It's a shaky contraption.
And you can bury it,
however you want,
but you can not **** me..

THAT....you can not do.

No matter how much you might hunger for it.

No matter
what DEVIL
your name may be.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats outside of this body.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats beyond this world.

You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island.
Starved for weeks.
Catching flies in the cave that hung open in your mouth.
Swaying on the wind until it was worn too thin and died.
And you see a series of the most beautiful sunrises.
Which you paint in my sleep every night after you've crept through my skull and come visit me.
Telling me all that you know of the habits of flies
While the new ones
Those kids
Dance around my breathing nose
To settle and sleep on my gums.-
All waiting to hatch to get a glimpse of that sunrise
Of which their parents dreamt.
A timeless chant
The only thing that god can be called
And the skin fell off of the shell of their light to make naked a thing that can not be named.
Cracking and peeling back their eyes to make way for the divine to come pouring out
Drowning a bloated belly thirst
Light explodes from every inch of the body-
It is the building of Ash,
The ripening of the past.
Until all that is left is he lthe two pupils falling
Like flies giving up on their lives
Into a pool of pure psychedelia
Dropping as a pearl tastes in the ignorant mouth of a thousand wanting oysters swallowing down the ****** of said god.
Who chokes on its own divine light
That it can finally die
Away from the madness of its mind

-overandover
andoveragain.

And our island
Is a venus fly trap
Devouring its neighboring flowers
Until there's no distinction between
The sweetness of rotting
And the living which is a thing we call ours.

You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island.
Starved for weeks.
Catching flies in the cave that hung open in your mouth.
Swaying on the wind until it was worn too thin and died.
And you see a series of the most beautiful sunrises.
Which you paint in my sleep every night after you've crept through my skull and come visit me.
Telling me all that you know of the habits of flies
While the new ones
Those kids
Dance around my breathing nose
To settle and sleep on my gums.-
All waiting to hatch to get a glimpse of that sunrise
Of which their parents dreamt.
A timeless chant
The only thing that god can be called
And the skin fell off of the shell of their light to make naked a thing that can not be named.
Cracking and peeling back their eyes to make way for the divine to come pouring out
Drowning a bloated belly thirst
Light explodes from every inch of the body-
It is the building of Ash,
The ripening of the past.
Until all that is left is he lthe two pupils falling
Like flies giving up on their lives
Into a pool of pure psychedelia
Dropping as a pearl tastes in the ignorant mouth of a thousand wanting oysters swallowing down the ****** of said god.
Who chokes on its own divine light
That it can finally die
Away from the madness of its mind

-overandover
andoveragain.

And our island
Is a venus fly trap
Devouring its neighboring flowers
Until there's no distinction between
The sweetness of rotting
And the living which is a thing we call ours.

Gh

You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island
Starved for weeks
Catching flies in the cave
that hung open
in your mouth.
Swaying in the wind
And saw a series of the most
beautiful sunrises
which you paint in my sleep
every night when you come
to visit me.
Telling me all that you know
of the habits of flies
while the new ones,
those kids,
dance around my breathing nose
and settle in my gums.
All waiting to hatch
to get a glimpse of that sunrise
their parents dreamt of.
-overandover.
andoveragain.

It's the way we cut off our heads
in trying to lose it,
throwing it in the river,
but are so consumed with curiosity
with what we will become that
we find ourselves still stuck
at the rivers edge,
trying with all our might,
to watch where it goes.

My mind keeps trying
to find my soul.

But when its distracted
and forgets to look
it finds it while absently watching the trees barely uncaringly grow
so slow.

If you look upon me,
from above or from below,
being swallowed at all ends
by a gang of thirsty serpents,
then understand that in my eye
i am shaking in a trance
and am only dancing with
my fellow dancing snakes.

HAHAHA

If you watch me
from in the darkness of my closet
which you've wandered into,
not knowing that I have left its door cracked open for you
for the curious candle light
of my small stadium to peer into,
and you unblinkingly catch me
while you're caught in the act
of pouring my body
into a cup
crafted from a piece
of my frozen soul
which I have extracted
from the contents
of the cup itself,
drinking and gargling and giggling while joyfully singing
of the sorrow that the light has while it has to watch,
with nowhere else to go,
then know that my mind
is the light
while I crumble under the comedy
that is its glow.

AHH HAA HAA
HAA HAA HAA HAAA

We are a connection
turned in on itself.

It leaves everything that it brings.

The fornicating black hole
giving birth to itself
is nothing
but the brilliant
uselessness
of any song
that god sings.

Let us sing.

I'll be the bed of wasps.
You be the dreams
of our *** and our dances
nourished and guided by stings.

We are a village in East Africa
praying for rain in our mind,
and that is where it rains.

Washing the paint from our soul
we can't tell each other apart.

Meditate for several centuries
after sleeping and dying
in your dream.

Wake up in another life.
Waiting for each other.
To love again.

The seagulls fly in and out of each other extracting biological trash from their Fake Plastic bodies

the past is a lover I have lost.
I can only fantasize about her
while I try to make love
to the moment.

Built from the bones
of the horse who pulls it
and the skin of the human it holds

Time got old and died
I'm told
and lays limp in the land through which the chariot rolls.
Love cried and carried its corpse and cold air passed through

my neighbor was sick of living until his organs quit and he died.
the only one in the complex I could talk to.
he knew there was nothing special about the sun and the moon.
there was no difference between them.
his sky was a wasteland.
his trash was his treasure...

he would ramble to me and sing to the trees and scream at the cars when they'd go screaming by.

he would explain to me vague and obtuse times- these stories.

-how one of his wives was more beautiful when she had died.

-how he dropped his son off in the middle of nowhere,
and months later the boy had returned a man...a killer of bears in fact.

-how they had made a statue of him.
a tribe somewhere in Vietnam.
and how he could still hear them speaking to him in ceremonies.
How he could taste the offerings sometimes in his morning coffee, or a few times mid-sentence with me.

and he would really go on about the thing he loved the most.
the only thing he had ever loved;
his pet plastic bag.

he would say these things and you couldn't respond..there was no need to.

he composed a will.
comprised of two lines-

the things I own will be burned but
my pet plastic bag I leave to michael

I respected this anomaly. This freak of nature. This neighbor. This man.
so I honored his request.

I wore shoes then and I had a shoebox I kept.

I engineered the burning of his possessions.
sifted through the frowzy living conditions of mostly nothing but a few standard chairs and esoteric books of esoteric things: symbols, dead languages.
Some ancient looking artifacts which were hard to trash because I'm sure they were either valuable or priceless.

a jar of teeth.

early on I had found the only plastic bag in his dry apartment in what looked to be a canopic jar lined with copper and more strange symbols wrapped around a grueome scene of children being eaten head-first by a many headed beast.

I kept the whole unit, figuring it was the appropriate container, and kept it stowed away in my once empty shoebox, tucked away more in the back top right of my sensible utilitarian closet.

Out of sight from me as it made me feel uneasy.

There is no arrogance in my obsession for genius,
it is an absolute necessity for my survival.

words are leaves
grow and
falling out of a mouth
gnawing at air for fruit

If I had thirty-nine eyes
I'd drop a tear from each one
Onto the tip of each arm
Of the aloe I love so much right now.

It is the teacher
I am the student
It lives so freely
I watch
Perfectly

Can you come teach me
Maybe I'm
Unlearned enough
To have your tenticals
Come and
Free meeeee

What can we feed meeee

If the rain falls down in smiles
Then I guess I'm left
Inside of the mind
Of something else.

Knitting words into my skin
Sometimes it binds my fingers to them.
The eyes and tongue are one.
My fingers are bound to them.

Lost in a poem
called a cave.

Wearing a suit of skin too dimm
To taste or see or find the hemm.

Words are now
If the meanings then
I'll figure it out at the end
If I can't I'll just pretend.

They make makeup
For faces
That aren't mine
In the mirror
That I'm cleaning
When they're done...

I clean their toiletts
And the tile they walk on too.

If I were any less low
I'd lick their shoes.

Growing bored and beard hair
Since I don't care.

It's a massive distance around us
But at least we never curse and cuss.

Am I always confused
Or am I always just

Like the animal
Living inside of me
No not the spirit
But the old man that was

Befooooore
I was booooorn
The one that brought me here
With his dear?

People can be involved with each other but they're only truly involved with god.
Nothing can be obtained,
But a cycle back to to the thing that created it.

You have to keep
the child inside alive.
In a cage.
Locked up.
Feed it twice a week.
Enough to keep it alive
too weak to escape.
Make it your zombie.
You have to keep
the child inside alive.
Feed it sedatives.
Feed it poison.
Keep it inoculated.
Brainwashed.
It'll never leave you.
Bound in a small box.
Don't let it grow.
Keep it's bones broken and soft.
You have to steal its teeth.
All of em.
When it tries to bight off its tongue,
bleed out,
it will not die.
You have to keep
the child inside alive.
Don't let it leave.
Don't let it see you.
Don't let it see the man or the monster.
Don't scare it.
Keep it calm.
Don't let it see you.
Don't ever touch water to it.
Don't wash it. Ever.
You can't let it know it can be clean.
Teach it the truth-
That the sun is an angry god
who eats precious things like you.
Teach it the truth-
That the nest of insects inside of your brain can only be quieted to sleep by me.
Don't let it grow and touch itself.
It can't know the
functions of its form.
Wear your mask when you attack it.
The monster in its nightmare becomes something
you must mimic.
Then come in
clean-shaven
to save it.
Leave before it learns
what love is.
You must keep it estranged
because it is something
that you covet.
You must be the savior
of the child inside
and you must never let it die.
If you do,
what will become of you?

The only thing that can be believed
Is how do you feel.
I've seen it
I've blazed through the trails
Of what's real

I'd rather be alone in the woods
Starving and dying

I hang around all the leftover pieces of trash
And I don't see good really
In none of em
But I see a little piece of me
In all of em

If God's gift is violence
And we wage it in his honor
Then in fighting against God
We become his greatest trophies.

If the walls
Surrounding this building
Were the skull around my brain
I'd drive a truck through them.

It's ok.
I'll be out of here soon.

This world is more yours than it is mine
You're a military man and I'm a skeptic without a dime
But the universe still opens up and explains to me the divine.
I see the bumps on its tongue
It's the water of the pool shivering casting the light of wine.
The air is so drunk and we breathe it so fine.
And on the flesh of each other we dine.
Sharing each other's wisdom and time
What's yours is mine.

I woke up this mornin
I swear I died
Well I died this mornin
My eyes opened up wide
And I saw God
And I saw that none of us are perfect.
....
As loud as a church bell I heard it
Everybody in this life is wrong.
...
Well stay up out my business you God
I known that since the day I was born
...
And ever since that day
I been beaten down and worn
On the day that I die
There'll be no me left to mourn
...
Between the trees those leaves
Walkin with the wind
Don't talk about those trees no more

I woke up this mornin
I swear I died
Well I died this mornin
My eyes opened up wide
And I saw God
And I saw that none of us are perfect.
....
You get away from me you God
Yer hangin around is makin me nervous

As loud as a church bell I heard it
Everyone in this life is wrong.
There's nothin good
There no purpose.
...
Well stay up out my business you God
I known that since the day I was born
...
And ever since that day
I been beaten down and worn
Yer in a strange Land you God
Yer tongue is strange and foreign.
...
Between the trees
the leaves walkin with the wind
Don't talk about those trees no more

One of the jabbering cows
is disrupting
my presleep cigarette
with its fat asexual presence.

Young legend old fraud

Infant in our states we're great,
Otherwise...

These things don't write themselves. Somebody has to build the machine that spits it all out. Relentlessly. Forever. A whole country standing in line to build a story they never have time to read. We're all slaves in this one. The dead leading the dead.

It was a manta ray. Or a horned man. Spitting a jellyfish through a portal in it's mouth. Out into the mouth of a turtle. Which grew backwards into a being, and the moon was the pearl set into the chest of this demigod hovering above me.

When you try to get chaos out of perfect order all you get is beauty.

Hangin out with the teenage palmtrees
which are hangin out around the pool.
I need to act a fool
if I don't I won't be Kool
And if I'm not
How. Can I be Kool?
In my later highschool years I dropped out of school
Cuz I don't follow the rules
But now I'm just a tool

Feed the goyum fodder
Wash it down with poison water
Oh boy, oh wife, oh daughter.
We've been fattened for the slaughter.

The mind is
The Great White Whale
Killing ourselves
Chasing it.

When the walls of your home
Start breathin when ur alone
Then at least u know
That one of you is still alive.
When ur disposed and
You're decomposin
And you're leavin this life like
Ur flesh from ur bone
Then ur empty eyesockets
Start searchin for another
Dismantled jaw
To talk to all night

I wish that I had
The grandure of those walls
To keep me
Company all night.

When you only talk alone
Then nowhere can be home
And you pleasure your flesh for
The day
That your flesh finally
Separates from ur bone.
mm Mm mm Mmmm.......

There was a demon in the cave of the mountain I asked him if he was bound to anyone in particular or if he was a free agent he asked me what it was that I needed him to do and what for I told him don't worry about that if you're free I have a job for you it'll be worth more than anyone's soul even your own I don't know how you think whether you'll consider it malevolent or benevolent but in the midst of the ride that we take in the places that we will go you will find a value in your strange ethereal existence that you could have never imagined an ecstasy that you never could have known... and so we rode practically drowning in the vast ocean of the sky in the sick and thirsty desert where hope grows in the form of a cactus every few miles; it keeps everything it needs from the greedy dirt giving nothing back unless you find yourself deranged in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night willing to ****** a cactus...i dropped him off at a Texaco. he was flustered and said he was running a fever but it was only fear I could smell. It leaking out of his semi porous Cactus skin. he had nowhere to go by the time that I was done with him he had become all but desensitized by sin. The last I heard he had started a family of his own: two girls and a boy and a wife who was faithful half the time. I tried to contact him by phone. he heard it was me and said it was bad reception and hung up. I asked a friend last month what happened to him. he said the last that he had heard he had fled the country and no one's seen him since. I can't quite remember what the task was that I needed help with..what it was that I had commissioned him to do....what we had set out for..... whatever it was I'm sure I accomplished it with eloquence, Elegance and genius to say the least. he's out there somewhere burying himself in the dirt of the desert trying to escape the darkness of his own fear.. losing sleep with the image of my cackling face gnawing at the back of his eyeballs from the inside of his nightmares. waking up blind and dead, wishing a cactus, like a venus fly trap, would break through the ceiling of his new cave and consume him back to the other realm. I've decorated his old cave, the haunt where I found him at peace, with chairs that snap when you sit in them like rat traps and a bed covered in glue in case he is ever compelled in a drunken peyote hallucinatory state to wander back ambling in and stumble into the Comfort the old life that he'd known so that as I make my rounds across this great malicious Earth I can find him again one day and become the cactus that consumes him.... Being now the cactus which consumes him while he is disintegrating somewhere in my churning bowels. passing him like a blackoutdrunk yesterday. Wondering when it is I will allow myself to die,, and where it is that I will  go. conversing with the high noon moon. Grinning at me like a devil I once knew.

When the trash pile around you start making sense and speaks to you through its open fly ridden grin then you know that you've been in all the wrong places that you shouldn't have been

When you cover yourself and sheets of plastic and rabbid American nightmares

A ***** cartoon is the only thing that can cover you

And if you draw yourself into a state of emaciation you eat the crayon and are full again

What is it that you wanted to tell me? Is it something from the past or is it something particular that you want me to know as you pass by? Train screaming by... it's a train screaming by

I have no fear in me anymore. It is a lethargy that I have consumed and henceforth absorbed in the particulated mass that meets my body which meets the floor.
And the state that I'm in I can only inconsequentially float upon the high air masses that float upon the wings of my Shore. I am not scared. I am not there where you want me to be when I am there for me to be nothing more. It is a great watermelon dropping from the sky and opening its mouth wide to consume me. But I am no fruit for anyone. I don't care what your genetics say. I don't care if youre genetics tell me where to take my goals. I am the genetic heir. I am the genetic soul. Anything that you've obtained from this isn't something you've obtained it's something you stole.

Feeling erratically estranged from the human species cloaked in a cocoon of a tinfoil that I have made in my own bedroom... waiting wide-eyed for the walls to call me by name... and I'm a moment of the past, a ***** of the specter to be exhumed.

I am far too sudden and Gone Too Soon

What would I be without all of this room?

girl: have you seen my friend?

me: was she the one with the weird leathery dress made of human skin
carrying the severed human head
which doubles as a purse

the skin around my music
Is peeling off my body
The skin is wearing thin and taring
Falling off and rotting

If I glue it back on
Will I be a song.

The music has many colors
The music is black
I cant see through the music
It's a cataract

gettin run over
by a black cat
when im crossin the road
and im dead