Call me mad if you must
But please first hear me out
I just got back from the Cryogenics lab
And guess who's head I picked from the crowd

If your thinking Jimmy Hoffa
No, he's somewhere deep asleep in concrete
I grabbed someone much more spectacular
I grabbed the frozen head of Walt Disney

You see years ago he had himself chilled
At least that which contains the brain
The useless part they put in a casket
And far be it for me to dig up a grave

I've now got Walt packed on ice in a cooler
It wouldn't do to have his head melt
What kind of operation do you think I'm running here
Some kind of Mickey Mouse?  

First on my agenda find Mr. Disney a body
One that won't give out on him too soon
Cause once we thaw out Walt and he starts to talk
There's no telling what he'll want to do

So I let my fingers do the walking
Here's something interesting...Bodies By Jake
I just hope we find Jakes place in time
Before the ice melts and we are to late...

...talk about false advertisement!
Jake the snake didn't sell bodies at all
Walt and I are more than a little disturbed
There really should be some sort of law

Guess I should have thought this all over
Long before I thought of it now
So as a special treat I thought Mr. Disney and me
Could go see his "World", so we headed South

Standing in line to purchase tickets
The cooler shakes when Walt hears the prices by chance
No need to tell you that if he had lower extremities
He would crap them if he wore any pants

We decided to do something a little cheaper
And with a Disney movie just out today
It was kind of hard to follow along though
When all you could hear was his body spinning in the grave, miles away

Guess it's to early to try and bring back Walt Disney
Maybe one day I can try it again
But before we leave for the trip back home
We stop at the concession for diet soda and Jr. mints

Once we got back to the Cryogenics lab
They're looking for me so over the fence I let the head fly
No need to worry, one of the guard dogs grabbed it
And I'm sure drug it right back inside

How should I refer to him? By Popsicle or Corpsicle?

i.
I feel like my legs have been stamped
and sent around the globe -
perhaps one flew to Austria to hear
the string quartet that stole my heart,
and the other walked to Amsterdam in
hopes of finding the soul I sold,
now stored on a shelf in a mason jar.

ii.
There is no metaphor,
only mileage -
a life lived long enough to realize
that love speaks louder than language,
and all an artist can do is strive to
describe the strangled kiss with
hit and miss letters,
myself no exception.

iii.
I remember tearing a photograph in two
and trying to stitch a half of each of
our faces together - forcing them to fit.
When I looked upon the product, the monster
I'd created, my legs began to shake.

Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***.
That's where I want to be.

In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.

He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.

One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.

Incandescent

The frost coats our windowpane,
and outside the world sleeps
in its arctic cocoon.
You are my fire,
we are wrapped up in our warmth
while staring at the moon.
The pheromones in the air
produce pins and needles
which tingle up my skin.
Acupuncture
to heal my sickness for love,
detoxifying me from within.
If I were angry
you would pacify me.
If I had a disease
you would medicate me.
I once was blind,
but now I can see,
that with you, my wise master,
I can erase the past
and rewrite history.
Winter creeps up
with its icy touch,
looking to barren my soul.
But enveloped in your embrace,
I have full control.
Turning up the heat to help me survive,
this journey we have,
all through the night.
The frost coats our windowpane,
while you glaze my heart with your
warm honey…
Restore my oxygen,
pump my veins,
Turn up the dial on by body
a few degrees.
Even if the world freezes over
from Winter’s mad spell,
we will still live through the
Cryogenics of our love,
and deny all law of physics.
For as long as your heart is beating…
mine will reside-
although the world sleeps
through the storm,
while frozen on the outside.
But the brilliance of our love
will always be…
Incandescent.

Kena SunGoddess Dawn 2009

You
and
I

become sweetgrass
become riverwater
become cryogenics

Not
Frozen in time
Not
Slowed, stopped, surrendered.

A new field
With hope.
Timeless.

You? And me?
Yes.

Something about immortality fascinates me!
But I realized that I don't need science or cryogenics,
Because when this flesh is finished,
I'll still have these words I wrote living.
When I leave this life,
I'm gonna leave behind,
The fruit of this eccentric mind!

crying is for babies
and for the dear departed
or unlucky ladies
that are broken hearted

or it's for my gran
when she lost her Bella
crying we all easily can
unless you're a fella

but there's one exception
when men like babies bawl
when in their method of contraception
they notice there's a hole

Eyes:
The glimmer has dulled.
In the winter
We curled together
Hopeful that summer would melt our frozen hearts.
Cryogenics never quite took off; forever is nothing to scoff at. How are we to spend eternity when this quarter century has already lasted too long? We listen to the same songs on repeat- we know the words but forgotten how to tap our feet. Asymptotic lives forced to come close but never meet. Summer is here. Our hearts were never really frozen, that's just what they told us. And to come together is to burn alive- Salem witch trials- mediocre minds know extraordinary vileness. Nights I wake up drenched in sweat wondering what could have been. I play our songs half hoping to be frozen in memory. I reach and reach, but touch only air. Heavy, humid air. Always choking on ghostly emotions. Rain clouds come round but nothing falls. Existential drought. Bodies fall,
Silent
Under the sun.
The unaffected
Play on the beach
And have fun.

Going backward to go forward
Finding my true identity
The hidden core
That represents my reality
Overgrown with twists and turns
Carrying me in wrong directions
Swimming upstream
Pummeled by the surf
Battered by rapids
Working on goals
That seemed long forgotten
But only frozen by cryogenics
Waiting in the wings
Hoping to be rediscovered
Looking in the mirror
To another dimension
Past the vortex
That remains transitory
Fleeting moments pointing the way
To look backward
And go forward

the following written
for no particular rhyme nor reason
quite aware the exit (stage door left)
allows, enables, to provide every season
with a bumper crop of dead souls.

many mortals beseechingly
lift up their hands
in supplication and inquire
omnipotent omniscient force
and ask why
since the dawn of civilization
humans dream up schemes to try
and sidestep unavoidable death,
whereby each person
in the macroscopic scheme of things
lives infinitesimal time –
say the lifecycle of a mayfly
as compared/contrasted
with birth of the universe,
yet noone can  defy
unstoppable process of senescence
and reincarnation into other matter.

no rival can outwit death
the latest craze constituting immortality
cryogenics will be tried
for the rich and famous
unlike one garden variety married man
a common joker biden his time
mortality of all will level
ever since origin of species
**** sapiens took self pride
whence began the march of time
human beings sought futile efforts
to sell their soul

to the devil who never lied
for lame excuse being brought
into this tangled
webbed wide world with invisible twine
impossible to outwit death
no matter how far
one tries to run and hide
wrenched to underworld
of Hades forced
across river Styx foul breath
from decomposition per billions
of **** sapiens that died.
  
intrepid souls stymied with infinite jest
by devising laughable escape
regarding these lovely
bones and flesh to divest
from nada one knotted loophole
tied by supreme hands and very best
no nonsense, but
to acquire every singular soul

financially straightened budget
necessitates yours truly
without undo extravagance fussed
on me, a pragmatist
to stockpile skull and cross bones,
which eventually turn to dust
enriching cadre from those
who trod across
boulevard of broken dream
capitalizing on those blessed
with booming fortune before going bust
joining rank and file of countless
anonymous graveyards  silently scream

the massed voices
who felt the fate of uninvited curse
once living in the green day of glory
before their existence rent asunder
taken under by driverless hearse
and subsequent devilish quarry

further contributing to the complex edifice
seen only by the dead
patrolled by Lucifer
for those who believe
against atheism and diet of worms
extremely well fed
those lives lost and once
whose kin did grieve

from sorrowful plight
departing with sweet sorrows rife
with natural fear of corporeal cessation
whether prematurely or
at some ripe old age
pitting impatient burgomaster
stealer of life
whereby surviving kith pay homage
on specific date of calendar page
aware that netherland awaits
without bugles nor fife.

Going backward to go forward
Finding my true identity
The hidden core
That represents my reality
Overgrown with twists and turns
Carrying me in wrong directions
Swimming upstream
Pummeled by the surf
Battered by rapids
Working on goals
That seemed long forgotten
But only frozen by cryogenics
Waiting in the wings
Hoping to be rediscovered
Looking in the mirror
To another dimension
Past the vortex
That remains transitory
Fleeting moments pointing the way
To look backward
And go forward

alternately titled: incorrigible lottery dreamer
big plans to relocate self and spouse
to some tropical island paradise
by the dashboard light
(the above line credited
to musician named Meatloaf)
upon arrival of Stanley steamer.

When my ship comes in loaded
and laden with precious cargo
from busy ports far and wide
captains trumpeting their arrival
donning sunglasses traipsing incognito
yours truly spied
at merchants wares
cast dark shadows
from the outer limits at noontide.

A fool's errand finds me emptying out billfold,
while being gagged and bound with a blindfold
My blood runs cold
My memory has just been sold
My angel is the centerfold
steaming with madness analogous
to exhaust or intake manifold,
especially as the winnings increase ninefold
videre licet building castles in the air
courtesy precarious scaffold
tumbles down into a bajillion little pieces untold.

Paradise visage and eyes a bulge with dollar signs
whets imagination with Mega Millions ticket bought
for potential wealth overtakes rational self
with delusions of grandeur caught
allow, enable and provide flirtation
with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation proclamation
and utter premature *******
from penury a distant battle fought

expect the usual outcome
after next drawing to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant millions eagerly sought
human foible to reach until life lesson taut
for elusive *** of riches
streak of universal desire
and tacked clear of shoals,
where hand to mouth
hardscrabble existence wrought.

This poor man's pipe dream
nsync with the milkmaid and her pail,
where fanciful notions
pluck me out being day late and dollar short
essentially pennilessness in the extreme
story of mein kampf fortune teller
also known as Zoltar speaks machine
said contraption did foredeem
substantiated, kickstarted, corroborated...
courtesy an archenemy Joaquim
(fiend nixed) and his tall sidekick Kareem
both rogues could shine figurative longerbeam
and discern mine ill fate,

Meanwhile creative endeavors
and linguistic pleasure
thru the literary attempt
suitably with my poetic side
third eye blind
(living a life of total focus
on the empty, finite lusts
of the material world,
instead of on the promise
of eternal realms of life hereafter)
palliative, yet less rewarding versus
garnering large sum of money
would be a dog send

delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
redemption and salvation assuage temptation
considered thankful find
with challenges or commiserate
and complement via words of positive kind
feeble attempt where words synchronize
readers may espy hidden puns
within this rhyme lined
to pry poem or prose from mind
deliberate semblance to communicate
and extract idea from cranial rind
analogous how stitcher doth tightly wind
a tapestry of rich and royal hue.

No..no...no...DON'T GET CLOSE
cuz, yea...yea...yea...
I suppose mailing altruistic donation
would be the safest lagniappe bet,
where over exposure
would most likely NOT infect thee,
though these really quirky,
phony (funny) germs can be inhaled
across transmission wires
thru the nose or data packets

bounced off satellites
as telecommunications specialists
worth while (and/or) even if I fall
precautions taken even extreme measures
such as cryogenics,
(where an individual
ideally after they die)
doth get froze,
nonetheless this communiqué
must be heeded cuz most effective,

and best assimilated
before one takes a doze
essentially (non fatal) lottery mania
flow within my entire being
from head to toe fungus
infected what this old rattletrap
specs castles in the air akin to a house of cards
careering into scattered mess
(resembling 52 pickup),
thus unknown reader

dune hot dare casinos,
gambling halls, horse racing, et cetera
lest ye contract an immobilizing,
yet fearless innocuous diagnosis,
buffer in themselves
with aspirin do sing glaring bug eyes,
plus affecting a hair styled,
and swiftly tailored demeanor
accompanied with Scrooge
(tiny timid lee)

intimating lurching, and ogling
qua monopolistic greed
expending every last red cent
indeed finding one
impoverishing themselves
at reo wagon light speed,
especially after getting flying high
courtesy stone temple pilot
buzzfeeding me with ****.