Dancing and jiving to the sound of the heart monitor in the back
Your seizing like a seizure and im beating like a heart attack
Grandma's dead
Dad shot her in the head and we’re
Drinkin and dancin tonight
I feel FINE
And we can slide through the slick halls
Flirtin with the white walls
and sign that everythings always alrigh
****** all up in her feeding tube,
Take a shot of anesthesia every time she makes a Cadaveric move
Yeah grandmas livin it up tonight
Now we’ll moonwalk into a birthing center just to step to those jarring screams
You've got syringe glass in your hair. I'm sitting in the doctor's chair. Yeah, I'm dancing with the girl of my fever dreams!!!
spike the ceyline bags with laughing gas, its so funny. not knee slapping funny just so funny.
We’ll have a disco party in the medicare
Weave some new bath towel from fallen cancer hair
Yeah this ***** getting crazy and i'm with you
**** who are you?

It’s encroaching
Stifling my breath
Like cold gates
At the mouth
That vicarious grip
Of distorted desires
Trapped inside
Playing hide & seek
Like a childhood friend
Or am I just having
A fever dream…

You are dropped off at a shady part of town,
neon lights surround you, they are cascading,
you don’t know where to go, you are their clown.
a briefcase in your ****** hand, fascinating
how easy it is to slip and fall, graceful landing its not.

Masterful plans in motion, gearing up for promotion,
Handouts for the lost souls wandering the streets of devotion.
Wage slaves, suit and tie, tight rubber band and an injection.

Your little baggage is ticking, tick-tock.
Run for your life through dirt ridden alleyways,
Closing doors of sanity behind a tight lock,
See the faceless amalgamation of people, life finds a way.
Finds a way, to take your last breath away.

Your lust for carnal pleasures is a weakness,
This blade that cuts the thread of passion is your mistress.
Your body will reject your non-organic heart, don’t stress.

Green night in the middle of the day…
Fire rising to ****** the moon,
Uncle Sam’s praying in my room
And the 8-ball will not say

Why a woman holds a gun
To her husband’s sleeping head;
Does she play or just wish him dead?
An armadillo’s included for fun.

Uncle Sam’s lost his hat in the fire
Maybe that’s why he’s praying.
Not for the country he should be saving
While we are conquered by liars.

I’ve tried to make sense of this before:
Masked fiddlers strum in the conflagration,
Dead books, butterflies and chimps run the nation,
…there is luggage on the floor.

Should I run from the scene,
Or stay and try to fight?
I can’t read my books in the deepening night
And there’s a skull waiting just to scream.

The man sleeps on with a gun at his head
And I see another skull by his side.
It must be a sign saying: “run and hide”.
But why can’t I do it?
There’s no way to get through it,
But I must wake up and fight or I’m dead.

June 1, 2006

She invites me up,
And it has been so long
that it's the first time again.
Tumbling onto hot sheets,
Shirts, shorts, socks,
Everything innocent,
Everything snug,
Everything hot.
And suddenly lips,
And suddenly pulse,
And suddenly fingertips grazing
turn something inside me
turn to hands clutching and grasping,
and arching and pulling,
and the missing puzzle piece
is suddenly about to fill!
I know her -
is it...
could it be...
And she slides away.
She is me,
and she has had her fill,
But I am still hot.
I wake in sweat,
pulling layers
from my sticky flesh.
Even in my fevered dreams,
I am too much.