humorously ludicrous.

the lunar rock flickering
& all that
co$mic glitter
pulsating
almost saying
I should return to the
wretched place
whence I came.

phoning home.

captivated
the moon's only reflecting
radiation from the sun
& some of those ancients
thought that ball of gaseous hell
was god himself.

I am now these clouds
of heaven chemicals &
other toxic emissions &
I am in awe of all of this.

there was an epic in the sky
& unfortunately I am limitied by
a lack of understanding of the
technical jargon.
the sad fact is to me
real ideology is not possible
& nothing but impractical knowledge.

.... and I don't follow.

I'm afraid

I don't follow

O peaceful moon, shining gently o'er the fields,
In your soft light I see a tree, a hedge, a glistening pond;
And the soft night sounds of rustling reeds and swaying boughs
Intermingle with the nightly warfare of a million creatures.

But hark! From the new housing estate across the park
There comes a rather different sound.  Through an open window
Comes the healthy thwack of flesh on flesh and muffled shrieks of joy
As Isaac and Wendy Bumsenfotze indulge themselves un peu.

Isaac's got his gasmask on, and his rubber flippers too
And (speaking candidly) looks an unattractive proposition
Especially now his skinny chest towers o'er his massive *******,
All four mighty manly inches of it from tip to curlies.

Lying trussed up on their bed, atop its needed rubber sheeting,
Lies Sam, their well-trained patient pedigree crossbred donkey,
Upon whose good-natured, hirsute, unsuspecting person
Nameless atrocities have often been performed in Eros' name.

What are they going to do tonight? I bet you'll never guess.
Well, Wendy's strapped her ***** on and intends to use it first
On Ikey's waiting well-lubricated back end
And then it's Sam's turn and ***** the R.S.P.C.A.

And while Sam is getting poked by loving Wendy,
Old Ike will not be idle: camera-phone in one hand
And mail-order sjambok in the other, he'll record
Their motions and lacerate them both simultaneously.

Underneath his gasmask, Isaac gets a bit sweaty and excited,
And once their party's over all three will doze off:
A truly lovely scene.  But they will be soon by woken by
The morning sun glittering on Wendy's cast-off legirons.

i'm writing this letter for you.
you in the other room, i hear you through the wall,
talking
to yourself,
telling yourself secrets you never believe.
i have some i'd like to spill,
but every time i try,
the walls soak them up like
white cotton and
black ink.
i'd like you to hear something other than your own voice
and maybe you can hear me when
you read.
you brought me here.
took me with you when you left like
a trinket,
a memento of home,
something to hold in the night when regret is like
a knot of snakes
in your gut.
ibd driving you
to tangle limbs with another;
a facsimile of love
driving me.
i think now it was less love and more addiction.
less love and more stockholm syndrome,
a disorder i cultivated
to have a reason to stay with you, with you,
the most beautiful sledgehammer
i've ever seen.
euphonious dynamite.
you are thumbtacks in my eyes and dry clouds above my desert,
you drop through me like lead:
you are a pneumatic drill and i
am a porcelain doll,
a quail's egg
you shatter me and i know
i never had a chance -
who bets on a dead horse?
who spends all their faith on a pantheon
that rots as they watch.
you desiccate me decimate me and i let you.
you are a world war in the body of a girl,
and i am naught but
cannon fodder
and cotton mouth i read you poetry but the walls swallowed my words
and all you heard was breath
(isn't that enough that should be enough,
a gust of wind
a breeze;
and the spirit is nothing but air,
pneumatic:
cavitied and consecrated.
the walls swallowed its manifestations,
but you
felt my spirit on your skin)
but i am not
enough
you are tire tracks on my abandoned road and you
brought me with you whenever you ran and
never believed me when i told you that
(not every problem can be solved with a map
spread on the dashboard).
you don't care about solutions,  
though,
just avoidance and denial and
distraction,
you treat every vagrant
like god in disguise
you take every hitchhiker into your heart and carry them like tumors,
infirmity is contagious.
a gift the bodies share.
from you i received
an atrial septal defect;
a hole in my heart,
leaking  blood.
from you i received dysthymia and
a martyr complex.
from you i received knowledge:
[one: nobody is strong,
but some have reinforced their bomb shelters
with their own bones.]
[two: a baby doll, baby girl
thick wrists,
sick recurring pain in the form of mirrors,
bathroom stalls and naked form]
[three: a gasmask can't protect you from the poison in your veins.
believe me,
i tried]
[four: the gaps between your bones
will one day be filled
and you will feel whole]
[five: the blue lips of a deep sea diver
should not be idolized.
the only surgeries you perform should be on your own heart
so you wound no one but yourself
when your hands
shake.]
[six: i tried, i promise,
i tried,
i tried]
you are false sermons and i am a believer you are thumbtacks in my eyes and lightning flowers on my back.
when i perform self-surgery,
i will bisect my heart

take it with you when you run
i will stay behind
and speak to the walls.

Noble stranger
Assemble these words
For the occasion
Building worlds
With my persuasion
Let's save them all
With mirth and missiles
And embrace the fall
Deuces wild, a duality
Every smile's a commodity

Turn left
Turn right
The coast is blank
My thoughts grow rank
Forgive me for this suicidal explosion
Yet I don't regret
The commotion
Seen in faces brightened by
Cloudless skies

Or in eyes
Blinded by mushroom clouds
That burned away our doubt
No clout
A gasmask and a nuclear sword
But it's not a word
Or a bullet
It's the action that kills

And the smoke that fills
Our lungs
Bulging through the spaces
Between our rib rungs:
The stepping stones to
Hearts waiting to be
Healed.

From dried blood
Long congealed
Picked off
Like the scabs that sealed
Summers wounds
Gathered together
And reaped from harvest boons

Glimmering
Underneath the convalescent moons
Struggling
With the twisted fate
They've to endure...
But the crowd stands
Demure.

Up and over walls and weeds,
ever-towards the tower did we climb
wrapped about with anxiety and anger,
isolated ahead of the herd
alone, we lead,
a mob edging closer
to storm-filled skies.

A bed of rocks, debris of cans,
sky-touch achieved:
we'd been first
to reach the roof.
Lightning storm to the east,
fog to the fore
and soon, somewhere nearby,
a stereo, playing the music of my youth
framing the sound of people laughing,
people drinking
men climbing too high
but mercifully, never falling.

A green gasmask, a black bandanna,
two flashlights and two bodies, pale of skin:
we again set out apart from the mob,
lost ourselves in computer crypts,
lamp graveyards,
uniform-chair depositories,
a ghost-floor filled with superstition and cauldrons.

Varieties of folder,
both manila and hanging,
bound across your back -
you got what you came for.

So did I.

Stranger things have happened
The splitting of an atom led to all the Eves and Adams
We just keep climbing up this ladder
What happens when we reach the top of it
Does it matter?
Still, stranger things have happened
I hung myself with string theory gripped in madness
And visited the vast void dripped in blackness
Crippled past tense reminds us of what was
And how inevitable it is that everything gets crushed and
Deboned with time
My skeleton remains hesitant at 11:59
Still even stranger things have happened
I woke up as a lab rat with a hazmat and a gasmask
Phantom of the operating theater with the seats packed
Breathing in sterile air trying to feel the breeze
Strap my self into a gurney
To perform out of body surgery
I said I'd never turn the other cheek but
Stranger things have happened

was a clarity to being beaten. to arriving before clockwork. a clarity also in the poems of his abuser. psalm and caricature. snail and gasmask. I miss hand, he’d say. because it misses raft.