the dolls stare at me

waiting for me
to come to life.

but they dont know

im watching.

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

my skin is a wax coat of pesticides.
leaking into the moisture of my meat.
my pit is a genetically unsound mass.

the only pure fruit
is the idea of the fruit.

it blossoms in a field
which weighs less than air.
it feeds on a substance
lighter than light.

industry will lift like smog.
we will breathe again.

if a person ever thought of the greatest idea ever they would disappear,
and no one would know they had ever existed except for the person.

the pupil is the light.

life is a river.
at the end of the river
is a baby.

Once there was a floating hand and it had nobody and it was in the middle of nowhere and it floaded to the middle of nowhere for a time that was inconceivable until one day I found a floating pencil... And it picked up that floating pencil... and I thought yay now I can make some friends and at first I just threw some shapes and they were awful and horrible and it hated itself so it gave up but then after a while it decided to hone its skills and it drew a dragon monster and the dragon monster came to life and it decided that dragon monsters were terrifying so it got away from the dragon monster but it's still all of its gold and made some chains out of it and became a rapper and it live that kind of life for a while but then it decided that it was tired of that life and its last album was about becoming a better person... Then one day I decided I don't need somebody else I just need to feel complete... So it decided to draw a wrist and an arm and a torso and legs and the neck and the head and a ***** and a ****** because it figured what the hell there's nobody else here to judge me I'll just be a man and a woman... But now that it was a person it became lonely again the way through a bunch of friends and a bunch of people to be around it and once they came to life they looked at it and said growth of hermaphrodite and it died of shame in Exile the end

the only time im ever dressed up
is when im doing laundry.
so, i look really good
while i clean my clothes.

give me the ones
i can stand.
the ones
who seek
and
who share.

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.

all the satellites in the sky
are held by strings.

and i can't see them.
they're lost to me.

everything, is lost to me.

and this is what attracts me.

you can see it.
and you can taste it.
but you don't know who you are
while you are doing it.

it is the
invisible mass
passing through you.

so much immaculate truth has passed through the world unseen
in the minds of derelict prophets.

the future will have reborn much of it in forms fitting to those times and temperments but some,
              
                and maybe the most
             pure and high of truths,

will always be unknown to a world who's survival may depend
on the insights of these who are dead and never to return.

a true occasion to call for mourning.

i know
whats wrong
with all the ones
that i know.

their drums drive them crazy.
every time their heart beats.
they have too much heart.

it keeps them alive
it keeps them strong
but life
and strength
arent enough.

theyre searching for
no,   hunting

the thing
the creature
the unknown being

which digs in tunnels
under their skin

lures them
from the sound
of the tranquil mind
and leads them
while looking back
and laughing
flickering its
bioluminescent bulb
into the massive
swelling halls
of the massive
swelling heart.

fury, rage
and shrieking, laughing madness
are the sound of the engines.

the citizens come in and out
with the weather and are
afraid and eventually
never return.

but this is where
the ones that i know stay.
because the animal
will never leave.
and will only die,
finally die,
when staring them in the eyes
laughing and choking
around their necks
only satisfied
when their enemy
smiles and shines
golden joy
green glowing excitement
and chokes just
a little bit harder.

their love is cruel
and untameable
and makes crooked grins
with broken teeth,
kisses just to spite.

the stars watch the earth
the earth is watchful of its men
the men watch the women
the women watch the children
the children watch the bugs
the bugs watch the flowers
the flowers watch the sky
the sky ignores the stars
and boasts of its being
largest and brightest
and best.

the light at the end
of the tunnel
is hell

when you look up at the sky
you are only visiting you.
abandon truth
and enter yourself.
that is where
you will find truth living.

i build walls around me strong enough to support pictures of all the most horrible things ive ever thought or seen.
i hang every ded animal by its neck on a rope to dangle from a priceless chandelier and rot in the air.
i bear and rear a child well and long enough to let it grow conscious of its death as i tie a grey plastic bag around its head and nail its hands to the table; silent but screaming in agony.
i **** myself to ****** and impregnate my corpse just to have a hand to hold.
i **** everything and everyone, and am constantly crying.
light my body on-fire to be a running around madness.
i find truth in everything,
and i live forever..

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

when i die i hope someone has the decency to burn all of my books before they leak.

swimming through swaying streets
that are dunk
and lead
to nowhere
and chase their own tail
dragging me along
until i find my bed
in the middle of
one of them.

i shut my eyes
like the moon eclipses
and total darkness
smiles.

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.

one undead sed to one too undead: "id **** for a romancer whos a necromancer."
    Well, abracadabra with just an ounce of my magic
i produce half a cadavre and then the other half grab it and shake it until it blabbers:
"well im awake but id rather be underground with dead matter."
and though ive never been sadder i had to grab her and stab her a thousand times in such patterns
that all was left were mere tatters, talk about beaten and battered as all the pieces were scattered
(i made em smaller and flatter til they looked good so i blabbered):
                                              "you look amazing"- "im flattered"
she sed but that didnt matter. im just a ****** whos madder than Hell oh well whats it matter
the feelings of a mad hatter madder than other mad hatters collaboratively dont matter
in fact the maddest just happens to have had all his dreams shattered.
evacuate bowels and bladder. souls eaten, demons get fatter, eternal state of dead palar,
dying in Hell, almost had her. *******.

if i die
before i wake
please eat me.

you can look at the ground
to watch the ants
or look at the sky
to be one being watched.

my ghost waits for me
i make him wait.
emaciated and dying
hes a dehydrated crisp
like a dried pepper on the floor.

he is flakes of ash
breaking off of himself.

a residue, forgetting my name,
expectorating dust in my direction.

his statue lives on in silence
as i am the sound
who travels
through all that you see.

life is the weekend.

and death is always monday.

until one day
you realize

that monday

has become the best day you have,

meaning soon

you wont care what day it is

and eventually

you just wont know.

naked.
*****.
running through
the streets.

but you cant escape the spirits.

i am a ***** styrofoam food container blowing down the street.

my girlfriend might have cancer and my dog might have cancer.
my cat cant *** and the other one is getting old but still orange.
my other cats, i dont want to think about it.
i used to cry when i thought about it.
i gave up on my life and failed my children.
but met the man im child to.
he sed he would take care of me and my little family then,
and since id given up on me, well how could i say no to that?
but that didnt happen.
of course IM fine. i know where i am. im right here.
computer.
a.c.
beer.
food.
(ill always have food. i could steal the cheese out of your sandwich and you wouldnt skip a bight.)
but my cats?...who knows.
i didnt do then and im not doing now.
because thats wut i do: i sit.
i sit and i watch and i worry and i wait and i drink and i forget and i watch some more,
just to remember what it is that im not doing.
and i continue living while everything around me dies.
as if i have the only gas-mask in chernobyl.
the only vaccine while everyone vomits their virus.
in the bomb shelter with the door welded shut.
i get the last piece of meat from your carcass and cook it.
and i eat like kings.

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

battles sing
deafening
the opposing.

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.

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.

you come and you go.

we are our
bodies
when they
mix
to meet our
souls
somewhere
besides
here

passing through
chambers and
floors and
precious bodies

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.

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

a dog
died in a fire.

the rain is every fruit of heaven plucked at once to feed the fruit.

in the rain,
a living man
trying to bring
a dead man back.

and the rain will rise and collect
and fall again.

its several thousand nightmares
having eachother.

makinglovemakingkids

id like to become very rich quickly
so everyone would be so nice to me
and i could leave them all.
id go to an island where everyone
lives a hundred years and are
always smiling.

i want the world to show its ugly face
as i look it in the eye and fall in love.

an open bowl
the contents
you can take

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.

the only heart
you can truly have
is the heart
that is your own.

all other attempts of
mastering yourself
with another persons life
are lapses of wholeness
which look back at you
and explain to you
who you are
once yourself
has been met
by yourself.

a fusing of souls
is to pour water
into more water.

it only overflows.
leaving the container useless.

smooth stones.
round puddles.
no corners at all.

there were spirits,
spirits wanting.
someone to inhabit.
a body to be pregnant withem.

the room was a woman.
smooth dress.
no bra.