The reality of your dream
Is a mask turned backward
Black over white, black over white
Love over pain ,love over pain.
Hey, take me to yourself.
The dream of my reality
Is the backward of that mask
Turned backward
White over black, white over black
Pain over love ,pain over love.
Hey,come to myself.
Come to self in self
In that place where
Everything can be
Black and white when is taken from us
Or white and black when is given to us.
Love and pain when is given to us.
Or pain and love when is taken from us.

Look to the mask
Intangible
Me
And
You

Always the same

Looking for myself
Through you
And looking for yourself
Through me.

In that place where
Everything can be
Sometimes
Black without white and white without black
Or pain without love and love without pain

In losing control.

"O, to be a whirling dervish,"
I think to myself
as I drunkenly stumble to the bedroom
and collapse, naked,
slurring bleary hate speech
to a god
I don't believe in.

in my mind,
i work at a third world convention,
bleeding saliva and avocado paint
behind a mule's *** like
seeking coverage was difficult
or something.

now it's past
the pillaging of painted americans,
valleys once rolled with corn and feather's weight,
but seized by nation's serious fathers.

the table creaks as sister
literally screams, "Grace!"
and the cotton tablecloth even
bows its head in poultry's spicy scent.

i said it was past,
un-remembered after a
murderer (more than)
antagonized another's HDTV
(bold, high, pronounces, and shrieks
more shivering-ly
than when a spider stepped on my toe).

now there are halos
beginning to blush,
vibratos crescendoing to
the last of leaf's sultry breath.

Noel was large-eyed,
carols twirling lighter than snow.

they made the Lord
wonderous, because o,
my baby king,

the manger was not a velvet cushion,
and neither will his
(or your)
days to come.