a porcelain grizzly bear is on my desk table I stole it from a gas station in Oklahoma driving 100 miles per hour in the hope for something hopeful a tiny minuet grasp of freedom of the road of the cigarette endlessly burning endlessly producing knowledge imagination little scroll stories that flash through the mind like rain drops or shooting stars at night or the clock on the microwave turning from 4:00 to 4:01
A subconscious journey a path a walkway a minor walkway into the many hallway'd mind perhaps there are no doors no official room or building simply hallways binding into one another like ******* eye lashes on a woman of 47 and in these hallways there are rats that like to chew on the soles of your high heeled boots leaving you bare foot then the hallway floors turn into your stomach flabby filled with chicken skin and peanuts A subconscious dilemma dementia the dogs got loose I'll trace them by the foot prints left in the desert like snow
“Ah” my money brother told me a snow storm I cover my eyes only to see that I am starving from the wind and food is scarce in my belly everyone is dying of hunger but the poet eats on his fingernails and the poems he abortions through the vaginal mind imagination that creates in his skull made up of glue metal objects and pizza boxes left out on side streets for hounds cats and old serial killer'd military men have left the war only to find trash on the side street and windows with yellow lanterns flaming up in the night like a forest fire or a **** girl of 16 running through the city streets high on methamphetamines I called the doctor he's drunk on something I made up in my mind and Beethoven is on the bathroom shooting up ****** which isn't mine where is the poem heading only the humming bird and and ant on the wall will because they do not care I am hiding something beneath the crevasses of my fingernails of 5 of 10 of 20 of 15 “there's nothing to whisper about” I told her sleeping ear in the midst of drunk A.M. night with nothing to do but make love smoke cigarettes and comment on the noises outside city of sirens that do not attract but chase the negros of criminal car thieves and the drug dealers of KCMO
she took off her dress something glowed in her eyes on her belly in her ******* her legs that grew like plants in a swamp or in a pond where the deer feed and drink I kissed her lightly I saw the moon shake in jealousy so I left the room through the window I crawled on my highheeled knees onto the roof and sang I sang I sang a song that didn't make sense and I puked up tiny words of misleading information to the past of my life van desert city Michigan land of rusting rusted old broken toyed up frozen over antiques the pond is frozen over winter won't leave me alone poking at my eyes the wind plays a sad song I miss the tree of life I want to taste the forbidden apple but I burnt my tongue on a hot iron or was it boiling whiskey that I drank from the oven
I took a step into a hole the subconscious mind began the breath like a young man that crashed in a blue volvo in 1963 on a street next to a ***** house and the lights were loud and the women were thin with thin thin thin thin and their ******* pointed and there eyes shifted only to God only to 1 dollar bills and the 1 whiskey and 1 more pill of the serene night of that hope of finding beauty in a high but the Trees burn and the soil is over used bare no child dirt the children are deaf and blind and cant run up a mountain reach the stars reach the ravens reach for the violin that corrodes the mind like lice like bleach on the bathroom floor like termites in the basement chewing on a sound gnawing on the night's temple this may be a problem painting you I'm out of oils and the fridge is warm that is where I keep my pistol turn the heat on turn the water off lets go out dancing lets make love lets **** lets kiss lets talk about the sky as we sit on our bellies drinking wine drinking the dogs breath drinking the hands sweat drinking the intellectual thoughts of a book the book is dead Savio stands with a sword and cuts his own throat yet nothing pours out what is next where does the Van go from here where is the next highway thought the next Used Car Dealer Ship where is aluminium bathroom the dishwasher with no dishes the light bulb that dangles like a child's loose tooth in his molding to man mouth
Look over there child mother indian man with no hair old? 80? 50 probably look over there God look over there look over there behind those strange purple white blue trees I think I see myself standing in water with toes with fingers and fish circling my ankles look over there a deer spine a dogs leash an unwashed sweater that cost 50 dollars
all my pants have holes in them all the paintings in my house are fake
her bodied was patina'd by a kiss of lipstick
soothing the ride back home a swig of alcohol as the city night ***** dominated quietly burns where is the loud jazz? bursting like ******* through windows where is the passion? where is the drooling for a womans touch? where is the television with a baseball in it's skull?
where is the wisdom? I can only hold onto this rope for so long my hands are soft and sore and this hole is deep this hole smells like New Mexico this place stinks of dog and a man who cannot wake up from a dream because the woman he loves is in an ocean and he's chasing her his eyes are strong and wide his mouth is full of salt water and as he looks up there is snow there is snow and the water freezes over and his lover is far she is on the other side of the shore she is beautiful in the snow and his eyes grasp onto that beauty before he is frozen still
a seagull in winter flies with the crows what a beautiful sight I once met an ant on a leaf of a tomato garden the ant didn't say much I complemented him on his life span of a day I asked him if he ever contemplated suicide but I guess he never got the chance the garden dies the tomatoes grew ill colored and the stems that were once straight like young women in sun dresses now bends like an old man reaching for his glasses on the pavement in a sand storm of pain he hollers out in his used up antique washed out voice of time and too many cigarettes too many women's lips and too much coffee at 5 Am cursing death to come cursing god to reveal himself like ******* and the Garden begins to decompose like that of a squirrel in a suburb street or a mouse in the cats feline belly the garden descends bent-wardly to death to the ground to the origin of life of seed.
A journey into a subconscious mind or maybe the glance through a dying man's eye glasses.
This poem is meant to be a vantage point of the subconscious mind. I wrote this continuously for 30 minutes. No stopping. No thinking. only writing.