Aug 2017
When reading Wm. Burroughs i fall virtually invisible while moonbeams and razor blades take a fresh scalp, mine. Tearing loose from his torn pages and the cracked book spine of this person, i still hear words echoing, "Ahh, the dice cannot read their own spots"
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“Erosion”, forget-me-not…“Erosion”,
When i **** UP,
It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale.
Maybe even a…Last gasp?!?
My inner voice spoke softly ‘bout loud issues
"Stay an inch or two outta kicking distance”…
And “take note of the sanity lost.”
Gah, yes, i know. It’s time to go down in the basement of my mind. It is damp and musty, poorly lit, a very low ceiling and in places very dark. It is an underground space and what you see is very much like what you’d see when a large rock is lifted up off a damp floor – ugly basement-like Things that are scurrying ‘bout. Hey jus’ maybe this is my Naked Luncheonette imagination working overtime and thinking, “Hmm, whatever” – Bottom-line; this is the place i wanna be at...
Said the ugly basement-like Thing…
”THE CRAP YOU ARE ABOUT TO STEP INTO AT THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE POETS WHO…UNDERSTAND ME AND MISUNDERSTAND ME AS WELL AS, TO ALL THE ‘HEELS’, WHO WOULD JUST LOVE TO STAND ON ME”
STEP HERE ——> AND THEN THERE..
With skin in the game @ THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE
i’m poking ‘round in the archaeological digs
of a used and improbably mind.
Reaching out, grabbing small handfuls of "what was once"...
Fumbling among the skipped parts
& then finding that my tongue
is the enemy, of my well executed smarts…?
----------------
i throw the dice, built from the bones (i cling onto ‘em like a life raft) of my once-upon-a-time friends.
All are gone, all but one.
The one on each die that tumbles away from me
i keep on lookin' away when i stare down at ‘em… screaming SNAKE EYES in frustration
i know not to mess with the snake eyes when flesh circulates as payment.
----------------
“Echo, tears, embodiment” says the angel as i fall upon my knees
by 'ooznozz"
----------------
“Erosion”, forget-me-not…“Erosion”,
When i **** UP,
It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale.
Maybe even a…Last gasp?!?
My inner voice spoke softly ‘bout loud issues
"Stay an inch or two outta kicking distance”…
And “take note of the sanity lost.”
Gah, yes, i know. It’s time to go down in the basement of my mind. It is damp and musty, poorly lit, a very low ceiling and in places very dark. It is an underground space and what you see is very much like what you’d see when a large rock is lifted up off a damp floor – ugly basement-like Things that are scurrying ‘bout. Hey jus’ maybe this is my Naked Luncheonette imagination working overtime and thinking, “Hmm, whatever” – Bottom-line; this is the place i wanna be at...
Said the ugly basement-like Thing…
”THE CRAP YOU ARE ABOUT TO STEP INTO AT THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE POETS WHO…UNDERSTAND ME AND MISUNDERSTAND ME AS WELL AS, TO ALL THE ‘HEELS’, WHO WOULD JUST LOVE TO STAND ON ME”
STEP HERE ——> AND THEN THERE..
With skin in the game @ THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE
i’m poking ‘round in the archaeological digs
of a used and improbably mind.
Reaching out, grabbing small handfuls of "what was once"...
Fumbling among the skipped parts
& then finding that my tongue
is the enemy, of my well executed smarts…?
----------------
i throw the dice, built from the bones (i cling onto ‘em like a life raft) of my once-upon-a-time friends.
All are gone, all but one.
The one on each die that tumbles away from me
i keep on lookin' away when i stare down at ‘em… screaming SNAKE EYES in frustration
i know not to mess with the snake eyes when flesh circulates as payment.
----------------
“Echo, tears, embodiment” says the angel as i fall upon my knees
by 'ooznozz"
