Exploring what sits at the heart
of the abstract acidic junkyard I've got.
Hallucinating gases produce a wild story
that starts off walking
in search of a new wrinkle.

You think you're angry inside?

half-speed heart-murmur salvation
knows how to have a micro-attack
on a super duper level.

you don't see skies or trees

I am so used to the liquid electronic desert,
the second the doors open
I get higher when i get inside.

Warm headlights cut through the muggy latenite
of the strange *******.
All the anger, frustration and pain
shift to
primitive energy (skin tight and mad doper than smack).

does it get surreal?

The desire for an invasion of your body is like a suspicion
overloading the ocean of ones and zeros.

the reservoir is full again.
planetary evolution is merely a diversion.

Look, mommy, there is an airplane in the sky.

*pleasure