Pixels weigh upon my opaque mind set
The normal third tier of distance
is not asserting its wicked face

Never before has this scent wrung it self
From a fugitives discarded clothing
Dared to cross these topographic horrors

Deep in the hands of some bewildered mongrel
The evidence engulfs the ghastly thin walls

To lose the branding Hannibal
and his nomadic pursuit
Would mean retreat to an empty cavern

But With not even some flimsy novella?
The currents and the basket weaving
widows would not appease

The Ernest clock of monstrous honesty
Calls for us to depart
This holding cell is still filled
Deep with ticking heart valves

How many times has this repeated?
Were losing our grasp
It’s been hours
And without any thought devoid of mossy textures

Chalk smears and ambitious plastic
Dual neglected lives in this purgatory

The ones that have been haunted
They are boxed into some neurotic tri-valve machine
It spits back the violent and the tardy

Pleasing the populace is just not accessible today
It is without any grass
But this overly sensitive blanket that I touch
I must venture to this foreign world of pleasantries

Where cry shed over a dingy t-shirt
And the slow desertion of the wilder beast will not be tolerated

Don’t be enticed by the fluorescent groping
The Outstretched hands from the darkened soot that was once a forest
The tiny lurkers that will naw at your feet,
All the while feeding powder to your flame stained cocktails

Don’t gasp as they sling shot you to the moon
Because those are not craters beneath your feet
they are just sewer holes in your brain
ice cream scoop from the tangled nerves

But my god do I wish to fade into the banana split wonderland
Diving into the sticky custard of mocked purity
I long to watched volcanoes erupt in a fortress of silence.
Oh walk with me why won’t you?

Into the masses of hands and broken toes
We will sway in unison to the outlandish beats of our mothers
The ship is calling and it’s blasting on all power
Forget your wand and come aboard.

Rolling skin shifts from side to side
This beating hit mashes
The backs of my knees so they are kissing spirits

The low beds here make you feel like a salmon
Caught in some fisherman’s net
Its obstructs your vision of the world

All you can classify from the passers by
Is the smell of their voyage
And the sand falling from their scalp muscles

The heat confuses your senses
Your insurrection causes you to plead for a truce
A plea not to be hearing German overtones in your own head

Where am I now in this weary plane crash?
Even the monsters make noises of bliss
The streets are filled with Technicolor tropics
2 joints for 8 dollars from homeless Anthony

A land of unbearable strangeness
Reality left us when the water fell
Completing an oasis of vibrancy and nutrition

The earth cracks beneath the roaming
Of infinite stray dogs and feral humans
Everything here has a tale
But you may not know it until it is wrapped around your inner thigh

A sixth sense of blasphemy
Forms a pit of fear in your stomach for whatever you left behind
Such creatures never meant to be seen caged between your very eyes

They grasp as if you were some ancient tree
Equally deserving of their devotion  

I am just an eroded soldier
And this armor is really starting to eat away at the cause
One can not find zen in this confusion
But we will all float down that path eventually
Zen can wait for I would rather wade with the sinners in the pool of exoneration

Some where he sits or gorily sleeps
The blank stare behind a rigid cut
Eyes of a seductive Mongoloid
Offering nothing for the poison of the sea

The arbitrary swirls of mechanical time pieces
Add  heavy track to this an
already shady beat

all the While A reproduction of some Germanic doll
Shrinks smaller into the keyholes
of his frontal lobe

A pleasant amnesia of the purist kind
This anglo doll she is now just a capsized pin
Her black and white knee socks mold into a geosed canvas
Ready to be re-painted with all the emotions he has left

What if I told you I loved you?
By the stairs with the works of post-modern misunderstanding
But it will be just a whisper of shear for the racket builds upward
The spinning mechanics joined by the school busses stopping forever

Yes that statement of old is clearly devoid
Merrily a swallow’s anthem
An absurd tangent of malfeasance
Almost a monosyllabic destruction

Only some misshapen coke spoons remain
As well asthe hands of a man who is much safer out of bed
The saline was much too dodgy
And the sheets…..Well they were never clean

Natures dilapidated rhythms
Carves itself into the trunks
Leaving only an omen
To be enchanted by a passer by

This fellow lone traveler
walking into ceilings of emerald delusions
The saintly stones and the creaks of trowlbrooks
He can not help but to gasp even to deafened ears

Lulled into complacency by decades of broken legends  
The anointed ones and their fractured promises  
Still somehow a harmony of one lonely leaf called out to him

Echoes from an apocalyptic cavernous wasteland
All the worlds suffering adjoined in one single note
With the agony and punishment
of all the dehydrated souls  

The traveler was resurrected by the choice to live in a world of sensation
Rather then some brick containment
He chose to let suffering be fall his confessions

With a symphony in one hand
And a chain saw in the other
He belted the incarnation of freedom

They all tumbled for the rocks
he , the saw and the beauty
The clashing cascade
A blessed rapture and necessary harmonic sacrifice
all to the gods of that ensure we never have silence

A inkling should never expel it self
Not as a smoking diatribe
Especially not oozing from the cracks
Of a chapped upper lip,

None the less that skull protracting sound will break through
Bursting contemporary bliss from within
It had long spent too much time,
Dying on soggy wood as a mere atrocity

It could not be discarded in the ditch of fools
A call to arms was to be made
Effective immediately

The ****** marry will lay in parcels
Along with the gates to our conscious leanings

You’re destroying the Sistine chapel
And ******’s mansion
In one determined swoop

But good god! a slow crumble just wouldn’t do an archetype justice
These ladies must be put down
With rancorous style

Send in their creator
Who better to stomach the redeemer’s stones?

And death was reigned down
In a total collapse of medieval bile

The creator stands in a wicked corner seat
A hand clasped over the shame of his retribution
He would surely hang him self silly
In the afternoon light

To be taken silently with violence
Not to utter a salutation
Just the cracking of a door hinge
And a look that indicates that stopping your desires would be laughable
An absurdity
not to be pondered!

The jolting sound of head cracking against metal
And wrist yearning to be ground to the bone
After hours of  furtive clutching
The kind on nail bending fervor that just takes the taste right from bread

Grabbed into a cranium synthesis
Im am forever enslaved in the darkest corridor of your existence
I doubt I will ever be able to leave this lighting wasteland
The eagerness pounding through the point were skin meets weapon

I am infiltrated like a shanty filled village
A real slum filled valley
Hopeless against tracking systems and torture methods
You plunder my underdeveloped hospitality
Like Jesus to a farm boy

As I scream ******* Mongoloid
I am gasping into your filth
A sacrificial lamb
Bliss by the slaughter wells

Mouthfuls of disgust
As your knees jab deep into skid row
Grinding the forgotten and the deserted
Until they are flattened corpses

****** dry of the water holding them together
You are pleased
The phantom has been fed and to ask for seconds would only tease the lamb
As I lay gushing organs with a smirk

Broken bent and emaciated  
I feel alive and it is wondrous.