my address is 14 S.E. 10 st. apt A.
ft.lauderdale Fl. 33316.
phone# is 561-222-1019.
i will be here most of the day.

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?

i would let the scientist turn me into a man-sized bug, shed my shell to give you an exoskeletal armor to wear. Protect you from the madness.

i hope you breathe in enough carbon monoxide to **** you on your way to work.

Yellow.
Toast.
Catfish.
The Great Masturbator.

...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...       ...

wolf pack heat

something as classic as
a man feeling the rain
in his knee.

or a woman's singing
curing the man
of everything.

and two people,
touching and healing
in the rain.

my tongue is a slug
to crawl into
your shell.

i thought i was eating food but it was eating me..
making my body too fat and healthy to leave any room for a soul.
i thought i was being creative but i was just stealing nonsense from the clouds,
cerebral earth floats free for everyone to claim as their own.
to think that gaining knowledge is to learn, well i dont know,
but  i think that that must be contracting a disease,
attacking the useless space i consume beyond the cells and bones of me.
and i thought i would sit under a tree...or something as pure:
that i thought i would **** myself, cuz nothing was there.
to use my mind to put an end to my mind. .
like cave paintings of a tiny man with a gun on the inside walls of my skull. .
and you think you have a purpose,
but not until its done, and probably not until youre ded.
the happiness from visions of buddha
the happiness from visions of christ

i put the self
into the jar
on the table.

but it sings
so loud
from longing
that it breaks.

i wonder
if ill ever clean it up.

there. a percussive mind.
a dream of a bird
fighting its reflection
in the water.
until one finally drowns
and one learns to fly.

i live in a helicopter over the city

everything too ***** to land

i see crimes from here
and i dont care
who lives
or who dies.

i see horses running races.
winners resemble losers.

the ocean is sewage
the sand is termites
the streets are drains
draining the victims.

wives and families.

the people are bobbers
to catch goliath beasts
from underneath.

   they sell their bodies for *****
                       filthy
                      clothes.

to cover up
their shameful ashes.

deep down
they want what i want,

me and the goliaths;

they want to crash
and choke
and be eaten.

someone to set a fire
to clean up the mess.

a fire to clean itself.

constantly getting better
at being worse.
my ineptitude is rotund.
i enable it with
all the fats.
i skeletalize myself
towards a very sad suicide.
alone in the woods
ignored by the trees.
lying & waiting
for the ants
to cover me.
until i blend into
the surroundings.

my lips are sore
my jaw is cracked
and my body is raw
from thinking of you.

dehydrated and weak
my eyes are glued open.

the bears
have broken
into my tent
and ***** me.

it has three eyes
to mesmerise

you never know when it is winking

seducing

you never know what it is thinking

deducing

it is always
just tricking
and tricking.

its a neighbor
i want to light
a fire of
to their house
but its connected to mine
so i sit
and i consider,

smoking cigarettes
with a can of gas
as an ash tray
to pass the night
and that racket
they make.

with my foot tapping
on the foot
of a chair
in the yard.

i talk to old ghosts
who have changed their bodies.
they look at me
and ask with their eyes
"how have you been?
what have you been doing?"

and im speechless.
glued to the chair.
ive filled up with smoke.

"i have no idea.
i really couldnt tell you."

the past 8 years.
theyre not real anymore.
i wouldve given up my life
for so many moments
but now cant remember
who i was
or who i was with
or who i loved
or what was so funny.

the past 8 years
were a thundercloud
and rained down
each hydrating moment
and i look back
and all the puddles have dried
without the courtesy
of heat waves
at the end of the road
and everyone stays inside
because its too hot now.

soon the ghost will leave
and ill be a mirage
talking to myself
in the city.

they are

the ones who
opperate the buses.

it is a heavy civic duty.

the stairway to heaven
is paved with nothing

there is no audience.
there is no performer.
there is only the empty room
that the dead dog lives inside of.

it lives outside of my body.


left in one piece to be taken

all at once

in a careless
swift
motion

by those who must not know

why its there
for the taking.

i let them have it.

and they abandon it.

but i find it.

broken and homeless.

i take it in
and care for it.

bring it back to me.

bring it back to strength.

so we can perfect the art
of seperation.

a white ghost stares at me
and dares me
to tempt.

battles sing
deafening
the opposing.

from under the table
a child begs
and pleads
for someone to make
majesty
or
sense
of its fantasies.
but its fantasies will have to do.
everything outside of
the tables skirt
is so preposterous,
so devoid of character.

the sun rose
of beautiful wet berries
thousands of screaming people
sneak into our dream
of nothing but love
will rise the sun again.

Theres a fire burning
somewhere in the world
and nobody knows about it.
I'm packing a bag
and moving there
in the morning.

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.

by the time it comes out
its already decaying.

staring at it
wont bring it back.

its life had no meaning.

and its left buried
behind an ophanage
with all the other children.

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

those who occupy space but
fill it with nothing but a body.
who drape themselves in an identity
provided by a paid designer.
who do use their own hand to paint the shell of themselves
but close off what any soul would see if it made its way through the false layers of color and skin.
who thoroughly entertain their friends with the most intimate details of their shallow hearts and selfish behavior.
who hiss instructions like
bugs with status to the ones who serve them as if they were
snakes with gold.
who have no smell of their own
and sweat what is poison to them.
currency flows through their veins leaving deposits of poverty residue in their derelict hearts.
who live in mausoleums with functioning fridges and bowls of plastic fruit.
whos **** will remain long after the rest of their bodies rot away;
they will continue to possess a portion of the earth with their clinical beauty, a momento of their spiritual decay.
i see them all the time but get no sense that they are of a species.
their sentiments
disease the flowers
around the place
in which they stand.
other than that
they have no presence.

the love of all living things
makes me blind.
the love that all creatures have.
id be happy to be a cloud watching.
falling onto their faces
as drops
and melting
between their hands.

my broken soul
wanders to your house.
uninvited and unwelcome.
my body has become a ghost
haunting only your memory.

i built an engine,
started her up.
watched the fans go.
watched the gears.
and stuck my head in it.

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.

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.

if i dont have a meaningful relationship
with a good woman soon
im going to cut off
my *****.

if i dont have a meaningful life soon
im going to cut off
my head.

if i dont have a meaningful head soon
ill fill it full of
snake venom
and drink.

period laxative.

photographs become
the saddest things.
and moments are
so special, yes,
but to pervert them
is a form of slavery.

a family is snowed in
in a small house
miles from the
neighbors.

they pray.

an angel comes
to guide the way to safety.

the father thinks better of it.

he shoots the angel.

they feed on the meat for weeks.

to look like a presentable person,
shave your face off;

whether court room occasions
or marriage.

the sky is stuck
in a loop
repeating

now imagine dying

ive fallen in love with your words.
i want to watch them run naked from your mouth.
i will pamper them with paper they can dress themselves in.
i want to feel the vibrating colors they give
to the shapeless light of the world
when they speak.

i want you to invite me
to watch them make love,
and watch their childrens bones grow.

i want to give them my kidney

and take a vow of silence for you
with everything but my eyes and ears.

i will not be able to die until i see your response....

which i will hold in my hand
until it rots.

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.

my stomache is fat
and my organs dont work right.
im hooked up to a machine
and my feet are different sizes.
but at least my mind is happy.

peaceful and strong
and spectacular
like the ocean,
the bringer of life:

will **** evil
to preserve love.

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

a being
pre-human
plays so perfectly
a violin
inside the belly
of a leviathan.

the sea swells
with his emotion.

the leviathan will never wake.

i live in the plexiglass
separating the people
fom the snakes.
the elephants.
the people.

the Asian ***** gets the..

i act as a regular person would.
doing useless things
portraying a useless person.

and i do my best
to seem content
in my role.

thats the joke,

but no one
in the audience
gets it.

but they still clap
when the clap sign lights up
and they seem to enjoy
the sound of the laugh track.