I want to swim to heaven,
because this city has an infection.
No injection will **** this disease,
this treachery, this brutality;
So I'm going to swim to heaven,
back float--take my time, my rhyme,
will be the deep blue trip
to heaven.

The dark dance calls softly,
like Night Shade or Oleander.
Just a little taste...
Just one more slow waltz...
I can smell her
wet orchid while I sleep.
She moves languidly through
my dreams, possesses me at dawn
with lambent steps.
The love is violent, like a bullfight.
It's sweet and treacherous, ferocious.
Fatal for one of us;
and she's been gored.

Life has reached its apex, when the major goal is to not freeze to
death on the Iowa City streets in February.  Finally I went to the back
of the ice-box, and there beside the hamburger and lamb chops and the Atlantic Cod, there was your frozen heart.
I'm speaking metaphorically of course, but finally, I see it for what it is; dead and icy cold.  You can't hurt me anymore.  Finally sweet apathy.
So whenever sentimentality comes whispering at the door or through the open window--lilacs in bloom.  I'll just open the icebox and glance at your dead frostbitten heart.  Maybe you were brutal and
cruel intentionally, or you could never overcome the blizzard
people that surrounded your formative years.
Either way, It feels good to finally see your soul and not
give a ****.

There goes Vincent with
his jagged sky, and
ragged beard.
His cobalt blue are
stained with the glue that should
hold us all together,
but it doesn't.
His sunflowers are lost
on humanity.
When we can't hold
on to what we pretend to love,
we **** it...
Usually in small
treacherous ways,
like apathy or
arrogance.

I lost my best friend today.
She didn't die, well not physically.
She went away mentally and emotionally.
It's a forever vacation, she didn't even pack.
I can see it in her dead eyes,
here it in her rabid voice.
It makes my soul sick, but she's
not taking me down with her.
I stand on the placid shore and
wave good-bye, as she sails
for insanity

I can taste the
lavender sky,
smell the pink,
squeeze the orange,
and drink it like a
Screwdriver.
My angel with
jaded wings;
My heart sings when
I hold her.
I can touch the
burnt umber of her
hair.
And I'm in
Wonderland, because she's
my Alice, and I want to bring
her safely home.

Debauched nights, destruction waning,
There is a twisted pull to the underbelly.
Chaos is ****, like silk stockings and
Bonnie an Clyde.
I can smell it a mile away,
like a dog in heat.
It lures me from the
safety of my sweet calm life.
There is an existence beyond
the bridge, but it's boring and soulless.
I want to ****** the light, and
the routine.  Dredge the marrow
from the bone