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.

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.

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.

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

**** 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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

wolf pack heat

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

turning
into
an
inanimate
object.

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 tongue is a slug
to crawl into
your shell.

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.

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.

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 love you all, but oh boy.
..wuts gonna happen?

now imagine dying

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.

they are

the ones who
opperate the buses.

it is a heavy civic duty.

the stairway to heaven
is paved with nothing

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

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

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.

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.

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.

a crazy man attacked me in the morning before i killed a little boy in Cannes.
i prayed for a miracle
when i woke
next to his tattered body
but only got sick
from his flesh.
im much more concerned about
my own flesh now and
need to end it.
this is a terrible waste of time and

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

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

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

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

battles sing
deafening
the opposing.

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.

we could cut the dictionary by a third.
we could cut the writing in hundredths.
who knew there was a d in there.

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.

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.

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.

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

period laxative.

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

whether court room occasions
or marriage.

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