it is because
my life is so large
but my eyes are so small
sending signals to an even tinier mind.

it is the intelligence between atoms.

it is something.

i think it is
a cause to find.

a ghost child haunts my body.

possessing a dead man.

singing through
skeleton-beak
and
hollow eye-sockets
he floats
on
bone-wings

circling death

and i watch.

the field around me wilts
the crust in the corners
of the spectators mouths
turn to stone
and break.

flesh leaves bone
all that is left is
decorating the past.

so full it cant be emptied.

When I was a little boy
I had *** with an older woman
in a time-machine.
when we were done
and out of the machine
I was charged with
statutory ****.

heaven isnt in the clouds.
its on a roof.
sweating
sweeping puddles of water
and little rocks
for hours.
swimming
in my own
pure fluids.
patching the cracks
in the cocoons
of the priveledged.
patching the cracks
in the cocoon
for the watch maker.
the cocoons for
the toddlers who pupate
and molt into parents
leaving their kids
in stranger places.
in the apartment building
so the rain doesnt move in
and ruin all the poverty.
patching the cracks
in the meat factory
so the meat can stay dead
in a safe environment.
and be shipped in fat trucks
to the poverty stricken obese
who party on pure meat
while the babies are away
and make love to each other's
rotting colons.
and im melting black tar chemicals
with fire on the roof
losing 8 pounds of my pure fluids
filling in the cracks
that let the good air in.

but maybe it's not a building.
or an abattoir or babies
or the watch maker and the
pinched nerve in his wrist.

maybe its the people in cocoons
dreaming up their suffering
inventing cracks
to let the suffering out
and the good air in.

maybe it's just raining
in their lives.

and im patching the cracks
in a cloud.

and my pure fluids are the puddles
where you slip and break your neck
as soon as you think youve got it.

i need a new place to live.
my body is a corrupt state.
the townships
are promised fortune
by big business moving in.
supplying me with a job
so i can buy what they sell.

i dont know how to tell you this, .....but there is a living sloth
inside of your stomache...
..oh, dont worry. The sloth is in PERFECT HEALTH : ) Its going to be juuust fine. What we're going to do is we're going to cut you open, after you die ofcourse,
and extract the cute little fella from your stomache wound. Im thinking about giving it to my daughter who lives in california with her alcoholic lawer **** mother so she remembers me before i move to costa rica with my 19 year old philipino model wife and totally detatch myself from her life and get the philipino pregnant and start a new family which i will also one day forget. Ahhh yes, retirment will be fun..in those years, i think i might start to finally explore my unhealthy interest in little boys and becoming a woman. Transgender, that is. Mmmmmmmm........costa rica.....

i need a vacation.
somewhere nice.
ill pack all of my things into
a nice suitcase
and jump in it.

Silicone valley.

her bones grow worms in the dirt
in the cadillac of caskets
shes choking in her coffin
he tells her to take off her shirt
naked is her task
skinned alive is his offer
he swears on her grave it wont hurt
and he says once hes done with her
well, then, nothing can stop her
he tares the leather from her face
a place from where leather is torn
he tares and tares
she tears and tears
until the worms are born.

the huge fragments castling high above the break were tremendous in stature and statues strength could not unmake,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and the swirl of lights were scattered spheres with scattered brains all stained with smears of squares,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and one, some glare led there to veer to here to where a stare could steer the cheer from ware-nightmares, their fear was near,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and over Time the Time stood still to watch itself go by to **** the Time (the thrill it gave from giving itself chills was rare)
                             but i guess you had to die there.
and when i saw it all took place between your collar bone and face (the space of wreck
                                                                                                                             the  taste   of   neck)
                             then i guess there had to be you to be there....
            but i guess you had to be there.

.

society is never perfect
an orange is perfect
you can eat an orange
but you are not an orange
we will all steal each others oranges one day
this is grounds for ******
which is why society is never an orange

the fruits of life are poison.
a cherry is a nightmare.
a nightmare wakes you up.
you wake up into hunger.
hunger is a pestilence.
the pestilence releases you,
but not before the pestilence
fills the belly of the locust.
the locust breeds love.
and love is the fruit.

the world is constantly
raining red love.

i hope my life slips by unnoticed.
if it tries to break my heart it wont.
it will be perfect and forgotten.
and i wont be there to die.

age chases you
and beats you
to the ground
unless you
set aside
time to
sit and
wait
for
it
.

undress me with your naked eyes
a skeleton can tell no lies
but hide the truth
from sleeping spies
to know nothing
is all thats wise.

i was a suit
was always worn
i knew not what else to adorn
my soul with but that shoty form
ive died and im reborn.

dances between the dimensions.
like stepping into a pool,
she is immersed
to every crevice
of her body.

she can drink it down
into her ******
it resonates in its chamber
she feels like a phonograph
skreaming and shaking
then laughing
then more.

peel the light off of our bodies.
hang it to make a tent.
a tent to live and die inside of.

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

hey. i live in ft.lauderdale. im not gonna waste a bunch of time and space on this, but im lonely. ive never had an encounter with another man before but ive always wished i had the ***** to. if YOU have the ***** then come cure me of my loneliness. please. im very good looking, 25 yo, 6 ft, 130 Lbs. and im hard right now. ; - )

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.

when i think of dying
my actual moment of death
i cry.
its then that i think of everyone ive ever loved
and all the things ive known.
but when we die
most of us experience pain
and fear
and think of only our continuation.
of our selfish selves.
and our arms flail about and we moan.
and our arms reach for things on nightstands assuming they are more air.
or blood.
or health.
but we agonize.
and we die.
like poisoned spiders.
in a glass filled with smoke.
and that is our world.
and you live there.
and you may be the man
or the child
holding down the glass.

drinking
drowning

dead.

a chair is unnerved
by the weight of your head.

its legs tremble

a leg breaks.

the ground is flattered
by your closeness
but unaware
of how it goes
unnoticed.

...who wrote this??

they feed us to eachother

liaf is e qislaxic sdypar
wiht lattars es lasg.

daeht is in ist aggs.

my life is so
tiny and exposed
that you may never
know its there
the way you
avoid
a homeless person
on the srreet
even if theyre
asleep.

i lie in bed
with you at night
without you

my skin sees
the plates shift
under the curve
of the space
between your neck
and your jaw
hanging open
and breathing

our hands
have never touched.

and we bloom like bursting hearts
but are quiet like petals
at our funeral.

the air
and the pharomones
in the air
rush over
from where they should be

to touch you
and smell you
and live on your skin.

but you can not be touched

because

you are your own dress.

you are flamenco,
a dance of pure passion
cutting through the colors
that spill and drown the music
until the curtain is closed
the guitar has died
and the stage consumes you whole.

the audience left to wander
forgetting where they live
only picking sweet flowers
from their memory to eat.

it feels like a bunch of baby birds are being born down there and they all want to fly away.

an insect stole my jacket and
wore it around town
and no one noticed.
i saw him and
crushed him
and no one
cried.

the distance is a shadow
of your shape i can not touch
so i dance along its edges.

float over to you as an orb of light.

whisper a teeth shattering ecstasy
into the base of your neck
to watch it pour down the canal
of your curving spine
until you are a flood to cover me
with what i can not control.

youre a force as though
pulled by the moon
coming in waves to consume
whatever it is you crash into
with crushing sounds
drowned out by your
bone shattering howls
which are lost
in the ******* wind
of your lip-shivering mouth.

        and all is left quiet and still
                       like both
                the blood-soaked
               prey and predator
          after the heat of the ****.

i bought a gun

there are the many ways
i could try to explain
what a deep dark hole it is..
but the bottom of the this pit
is so far down
you wouldnt be able
to hear me
if i did.

i love life
and youre in it.

every piece built this thing.

every thing destroyed.

the building blocks for dust
and the moisture it enjoys.

water flows through me
and you are swimming.

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.

i sleep inside the lions mouth
and pray that it will eat me.
it never does.
there is no god.

i do every irritating
and filthy thing i can
in its mouth
so it will finally become annoyed
and be rid of me-

-  trying to swim down its throat
   ******* under its tongue
   chewing and scratching
   its cheeks and its gums.

but i must have faith
only in myself..


i have been eating my own flesh
for three days now.
ive amputated my left leg
below the knee
and am enjoying myself
very, very much.

i will work my way
up my body
until i am finished.

it brings
such a spread of delight to my face
so immaculate
to know that
my own smile

is my dessert.

what a fascinating man i was.

For eternity

Jim and Fred.

the language they use to connect
starts changing.
everyone who engages is a threat.
to make eye-contact is to ******.
laughter is empty with ulterior motives.
what they seem to be is unfathomable.
a strange, violent species.

my spine curves
& my fingers thin
as i retreat
from their
false lights
& spiritual prisons,
into a dark
calm place
where the sound of
dripping water
fills me with
near death peace
as i sit until
i become stone.

**** snakes from your skin
one by one and
in masses.

the mother lizard
vomits her egg
and the child
lives there
forever.

until the dust syphons
the bones from this cage
we are a constant, ripening, pulse.

have you ever squeezed to smell a bag filled with generations of ded flies?
youll kno it wen i spread my ded wounds over your airholes
as you suffocate on my nourishment.
slipping your name from my tongue to your ear while you sleep.

if my ego
were bigger than i
then i would feel
very small.

a basketball sits still
and alone
in a vacant playground
filled with only
the stare of the moon.

a small bicycle
lies on its side
just outside the gate.

a family shakes and cries
next to a telephone
silent and avoiding the facts.

a man is fat
off of the contents
of the child
who he sweats out
dazed and in a
fog of zen.

the moon
continues its search
for nine months.

and that same child is found
in a new body
with a new happy family.

twenty-six years later
the child is a man
with a child of his own.

that child is stolen
from a playground
vacant except for
the stare of the moon.

the man searches and finds
his child
in the back bedroom
of an aging fat man.

the moon smiles
and rests its eyes
and dreams of
this beautiful revenge.

i crawled in here
like an emaciated
****** up
catipillar.

im gonna fly out
like a half-*******
butterfly.

a belly fat
off the nectar
of this place.

they fight crime.
or they would.

shes always at home,
trying on different capes
in the mirror
seeing if they look good.

and hes always out of breath
when he gets to the
scene of the crime
after running the whole way
because he cant afford
to fix the car
or even take the bus
cuz she wont get a job
cuz she spends
all his money
and all her time
on those *******
******* capes.

several dozen leaves fall
all at the same time
around me
on the
ground
and there
is no wind

its abscission.

if you try your very best to lose
youll eventually win.
parking somewhere
after driving nowhere.

iremember being in a tree
At the park in my neighborhood
Watching two clowns
Smoking cigarettes
A man and a woman together

And we all watched their Macaw walk on the dead bush branch

When you're ****** out of your mind and you're laying in a tree, watching this, about 15 or so, you talk about it when youre 30 or so.

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 look inside myself long enough
and see a skeleton
trying to dig his way out.

i see them every time i look at the sky out of the corner of my eye.

they must be so restless
to live so late
theyre helpful
and hurtful
and endless.

make us our miracles.
give us our gods
feed us the mystery and magic.

The Woman-

Make naked
the thing
which covers you.

The Dress-
                        -has no soul
                    - is naked inside

I.
-peel the skin from my eyes.

there's no one in the streets.
they're all dying in their homes
rotting in their chairs
collecting flies and
huffing raid.