Where the trains run parallel
I run the perimeter,
Looking for a way through This heat covered flesh.
A new kind of madness
Invades my brain,
I cannot describe the freedom
****** on the edged of the rim.
A subliminal contract
With no strings attached.
All the clouds run counterproductive,
Its a new kind of system.
I've jammed all the frequencies,
Only radio transmissions
From 1953.
Caught in the warble,
I'll drop the pill in the vat,
You'll will feel it momentarily.
You will surrender to its properties,
A fugue of dark wonder.
You will enter it's pinkish light,
You'll hear your Mother's voice from the womb.
You'll not transcend this new kind of madness.
You'll fall into it light a cliff diver in Yucatan,
It will be your friend,
Your great undoing,
Clock towers and spires will Resolve your transmission.
You're in curved space time now,
Nothing can touch this unlimited freedom.
There will be no further interruption.
Come with me now to the place of still water,
Let me show you the shape under the sheet.
Can you smell the rain?
It's an acid bath of elation.
Isn't it buzzing in your toes?
I've factored in retrograde,
Will be there within the hour
Them we'll see what else transpires along the realm.
We'll kick Baal down the steps,
Get him wobbling down
Where all the trains run backward.
The Christ figure will blind him,
Bind him in sackcloth and ash.
It will be a celebration
I figured in the overload,
Put it through sine and cotangent-
Then it's all peaches.
Like coming up for air.
It will be a beast,
A bull, a drama.
It will be a fly in the ointment,
And grease on the rails.
It's a symphony in the speakers,
Where nothing floats but saucer shaped thoughts.
Stick figures hang from a tree,
You'll wish to be one of them.
You'll want to swim in it,
Through it, into it.
It's a blue filter night dream.
A cerulean blue blaze of pixel
It will drive your dreams to monochrome.
You'll lose 27 minutes upon reentry.
You'll be through the stars.
It only requires gasoline and guts.
I drew the schematics straight out of nowhere.
They filtered down from Central,
Forgetting new Area Codes
I dreamt up last Sunday.
Its Arkansas in the sun,
It's a page witch dance,
It's ****** with a mallet,
It shines to a T.
Wait by the phone for further instruction.

The poem arrives same as last week,
It's shirttail sticking out
Slurring of meter.
It knows form like the Devil knows Christmas,
Your free spirit simile
Has more holes in it than Sonny Coleone.
Ballads, sonnets and well metered stanza
Wake hungover in flea bag motel,
With empty beer cans dribbling prose.
Johnny Flip The Finger
Burps out and ending.
Checking his pants he finds 3 crumpled ones.

A silence consumes the cold depth of winter,
I wonder will death be as silent as dusk?
A cold room unlit in shadow,
Winter holds with it the small death of loss.
The cold snow comes taking birds with it,
Finchs and sparrows netted in branches,
Worry the hawks ravaging claw.
In dusk I leave no trace of shadow before me,
My spirit gone to wind by dawn.

Now splashing through fire,
Now burning in water,
Night all drunk up and moonlit.
Now I'm insane and stare at wallpaper
The way one looks at a Piccaso.
And the worms sing my bones.
Birds fly fire roses open like smoke,
And words thread hot needles like wire.
I pray for California,
I pray for rain,
I pray a quick death
As a spider crawls up the wall.
And all the tunnels go down in the dark,
As we go down in the dark.
And I ask for a cup of myrrh,
And I'm handed a snake instead.
I dream like London
And blue carbon gas.
I float through alleyways of wine soaked fights.
Ravens cluck the hour,
The bottom of my soles.
Jesus sleeps in Nebraska tonight.
Adam and I both fall to dust.
There's a stone in my heart,
A fly in a frenzy
There's Tulsa and crab cakes
And 3 for a dollar,
And something for the little lady.
Watch a drunk slam into 7 parked cars
As the world go as mad as a roach.
While old St Benedect dreams in his shoes of endless
Bikinis and bottles of beer.
And my bottle goes Blam,
And I pick up another,
And I go with it.
My mind is a symphony now
Of wire and spit spray
And I go with it,
I go with it,
Into it now, Into the terror,
Roaring, Roaring, Roaring.

Trundling a shadowed vale
To a low stone wall
Along a sloping ridge
An Old Yankee farmer
Tended his field til he died.
Slowly overtaken by time and the wild boom of flower
The stone wall crumbles
Silent as dry passing wind.
But for the sound of a river
Washing stones
Whispering we were never really here

Soon it is over and dust covers pages.
You come to the page with blood on your hands.
When you turn around its always the past.
And rain falls forever somewhere.
Inside we empty the minutes to hours,
And the days are horses running the hills.
I wait by the door of unknown tomorrow,
And gaze at the past's unsettling dream.
This ensemble draped in scarlet begonia,
I breathe night's intoxicated hour,
As all the days have fallen to dusk.
In days of dripping sinks and emptied vases,
As the hours used up are spilled from the cup.
A sheen of rain falls on the living,
As the dead dream of Heaven no more.
A whisper of wind scattering pages,
A church of words built from the ground.
Where's my specter, the color of silence?
Caught up in echoing air?
Where are the Exiles, they're hands smeared with berries,
Do they witness to a choir of clouds.
A lute of dark birds gathered in shadow,
As wind stirs the dry husk of leaves.
A void overtakes the yellowing pages.
A dark house consuming my winter of words.

But how can that be?
Was it the law that caused my doom?
The wrong I don't mean to do, I do anyway,
Though every higher thing Within me,
Screams at this outrage...
Led to be a monk,
I fell from the top rung.
You're fate at your fingers
( yeah, I'm at war with those too).
I'm my own martyr in motion,
At war with my wanton ways.
But I got a woman in the other room- know what I mean?
She tries to keep me out of Romans 7,
But she only gets me in deeper.
Ah- between the pills and drama,
It's psychotropic Hades before your eyes.
Seems I have to have it by 4,
Or it's a bumpy ride all the way home.
It's a Tilt-A- Whirl, a real wild ride.
This Act of Contrition,
I've surely brought on myself
Nowhere in Romans 7,
Do you go it alone,
Yet there remains a certain isolation,
A turning away.
Even in the presence of others,
There's an aloneness,
A shrinking of the spirit.
Crying out to Him,
I sometimes only hear the wind.

At the bottom of these stairs,
It's shadow looming over light.
And the only shadow I fear,
Is the one I leave.
Is there a way out?
None you see from here.
Alas- 2 10-325's,
Climbing the dark stairs to the bottom.
Zoom, here goes nothing to Nowhere.
Where's God's love in the depth of addiction?
Closer than the sin I wear.
I offer my sin, and take it back up again.
Romans 7, my salvation and my despair.
Making mud pies in the alley
Than castles on the shore.
How far I've wandered To find where I am.
As darkness knows no presence other than it's own.
I know this other light,
And Who Within it Dwells.
His name is Peace,
He who comes to to set the captives free.