walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, who is that man?
You try so hard
But you dont understand
Just what youll say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, is this where it is?
And somebody points to you and says
Its his
And you say, whats mine?
And somebody else says, where what is?
And you say, oh my god
Am I here all alone?

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, how does it feel
To be such a freak?
And you say, impossible
As he hands you a bone

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

Youve been with the professors
And theyve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
Youve been through all of
F. scott fitzgeralds books
Youre very well read
Its well known

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Now you see this one-eyed ******
Shouting the word now
And you say, for what reason?
And he says, how?
And you say, what does this mean?
And he screams back, youre a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin around
You should be made
To wear earphones

Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?

Her life has gone haywire
So she hits the sack of hay
Capital Hill tries to take advantage of this
So they try to revive their old conservative practices
With tools of maladjustment

The criminals give good ideas
To the goody-two- shoes looking to bust loose
Who create dark desire
For the demented ones with power

The Birthgiver slaves away
Until her heart gives out
The Embeder is on his hands and knees
Searching for sustenance
I, the final product is at the first national bank
Missing all who have died

The man from Illinois
Pleads not guilty
The judge looks in the eye
And says this mistake will cost him

His lawyer stands up
And puts his hand on the mans's shoulder
And tries to cheer him up
And says "it's only a life sentence, you'll be fine"

The smart mouth, while ridiculing the knife thrower
Sees the sword swallower  doing his act
And asks, "Did you pick that trick up from your ***** mother or **** father?"
The sword swallower regurgitates the saber and removes the smart mouth's tongue

Soon after, the smart mouth becomes the fat head
Who is now a priest
Who has no idea what he's talking about
But, neither do the people who follow him

Our six-star rank general calls an assault
And tells his soliders to do handstands
As he personally executes our last hope
To end this holy war we have nothing to do with

All the branches collectively agree
The public can never know their plans
They can only be spoon fed political promises
That aren't meant to be kept but to get votes and fund their federation

If you look up naive in the dictionary
You'll see the synonym ignorant
But in an atlas you find the address
Of some one who sees the school system more useful than an encyclopedia and library cards

I hope that the kids of tomorrow will be prepped and ready
For a world where it's not what you know but who you know
And where a degree is the equivalent to bathroom tissue  
But mutual friends are golden tickets

The musicians these days aren't artist but entertainers
Who write catchy tunes with an accessible message
While the social networks keep us connected
And up to date with everything they say we need to know

I dream of creating something simple
That can wake up the world from this trance
So it can stand up and make a change
And save the unborn and put the dying at ease

You walk into the room with your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked and you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard but you don't understand
Just what you will say when you get home
Because something is happening here but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You raise up your head and you ask, "Is this where it is?"
And somebody points to you and says, "It's his"
And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?"
And you say, "Oh my God, am I here all alone?"
But something is happening and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You hand in your ticket and you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you when he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel to be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible!" as he hands you a bone
And something is happening here but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
You have many contacts among the lumberjacks
To get you facts when someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect, anyway they already expect you to all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations
Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well-read, it's well-known
But something is happening here and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you and then he kneels
He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice, he asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan"
And you know something is happening but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Now, you see this one-eyed ****** shouting the word "Now"
And you say, "For what reason?" and he says, "How"
And you say, "What does this mean?" and he screams back, "You're a cow!
Give me some milk or else go home"
And you know something's happening but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?
Well, you walk into the room like a camel, and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law against you comin' around
You should be made to wear earphones
'Cause something is happening and you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?

and when i'm overconfident,      i give away things that i shouldn't
i will miss them someday when i'm in bed-
the nails still growing
no mater how short they get cut. keep cutting
them shorter and shorter

looking down at it.
hallway-stairling 
bleating,
unsated.
perambulating this



/

Well the nickel beer and
Lemonade has
Already been served

And there is nothing else
That I can recognize
That claims that I am made of
Meat and bone and tissues

Who says I am man?
Who believes that I am
Not God and God alike?
And so than the hypocrites of mind
And man alike will shiver in their
Souls because the realization of their
Clear headed souls will show them
Four years of lost time and tight fitted black pants

The aim
Is beautiful

For it is full
And
FILLED WITH PURPOSE

The real beasts press
Against journalism
All trying to spread their
Highly detailed journalism with
The broken whiskey bottles of their era

In chemistry
Their is magic
And magic is merely
Man on man conflict
Where journalism presses their ink
Onto page
To produce a mere inch
Of their madness and chaos

Let lashing be the whip
Of Joyce's poetry
There once was wisdom
And Dionysus and arguments and nothing
That could spread because reality is neither
Nothing and nothing else because play
Has nothing to do with time

Because the disease of a character manning a mast
Of a man never existed
Plagues the soul of the creator
We are the agents of narcotics and of steel details
That lay to the promise
Of killing with pure reason

And everyone uses a character
For the vehicle for "quotations" is solely
To carry the story for the form of the road
That was repeated for the sake of the "story"

An lo' weighs the film
The man against himself
The U.S.A. taken over by the myth
Where myth
Could not even be defined
By our hollywood intellectuals

And than the death begins
Because youth
Was always so
Fleeting

And our age
Is always wrong
With America

For we think because we
Scream
The higher-ups are
Listening

It is laughable what
Television
Makes for
"Us"

Take the grenade and
Pinch the pin for there
Is only politics and politics is
Spelled out in day one, day two and
Day three and white make-up who
Claims to know nothing...

A regular Dylan carry.

Where are we than?

Who carries the torch?

I can't wait for the cops
To never
Carry me away for
Nothing I've always been
Doing.

And for entertainment and the
Greeks and the campaign trail
The hatred presses for the reasons
Why hate is actively productive for
Money when dealing with the flies
And maggots of Hollywood

Let the un-creative die and writhe and
Sigh with their million dollar wives
Where the rest lay with reality whose
Stones are as thick as the ones first laid

For the break is always near
And where there is nothing else
All you can rely on
Is only but the self

Where there is only night
There is no reason to scream
For the seasons have their turns
And the young have their yearns
But we, yes we...
We have reason for our season
To stretch and to breathe

I got a free hand but I got no broom
They tell me again, but I got no room
There's the check, and I start to swoon
But the taxi's here, and I'll be sleeping soon

A giant being
Where all good
Could be possible
And all finishings
Of the furnishings of

America

Have already been
Accomplished
And lay naked
To be judged
By the pressures of man
Who claim to say
They are the "speaking class"
Who speak

For all the rest

I've got no fingers
Left
And my ringers
Well their minds are on
Television's
Theft

I got no more money
I spent it all
On the freak

And the rest
I saved up
I plan on spending it on
The Geek

Take it from me
The reason to be
Is to keep on the
Breathe
And the scream

Each whisper
Shines through a plate
Of clear crystal screen
And when the happening
Let's go and closes

There will only be the
Sword swallower and
And the goat
That swears
It feels

Oh how time presses where magic
Once where and where we remember
When men were men and women were
The reason to write songs for the empty
Roads show nothing but the dim lit codes

I tell nothing of where I would like to be
For where I've been is nowhere I can see
I've lived enough to trust that life will never be O.K.
And that poet's have died in a life of disarray

Where than do I stand without you?
I pray that no worker hears what I do.
And the detective neither holds a clue
In the English grocery, the line is nill without que

And oh' hero
Who has lived past
The unsurpassable zero

Whose memory and fate
Is never too soon and never too late

Whose tambourine rings
And whose voice will always sing

A poet to die
Whose harmonica's cries
In an eternal sigh

And the laugh of naivety and truth
Where there once
Was possessed youth

The blue eyed son never
Learned the definite definition
Of a human race with a
Solution

There will always be
A Hard Rain

With ourselves
To love and never

To Frame

.
Even after visits to apartments in self-named cities to see soccer stars swathed in orange tuxes,
Swerving off country roads in berating fits of tenderness,
Sputtering 'i love yous' in ditches and river canals;
Even after chais with Ye Ye Elders,
Messenger powwows with ancestors, and
holding the hands of comforting Harmonies, I

Never got it right.
.
It was a pathetic attempt to join a traveling circus; a passive means for an escape. Who were the Elephant Man, the sword swallower, or the contorting twins?
****** if I know.
Buddy had his hands wrapped around my neck in a nihilist noose so tight that it bubbled up amaurotic visions within my retina.
I couldn't see or feel a ******* thing.
Lost consciousness on his cold bathroom tiles, sprinkled with ***** confetti, **** all up on my cheek.idonthavetimeforthis!sleeponthecouch!
Watching 'Teach Yourself Circus!' videos at circus camp, I learned to juggle,
albeit groggy and disoriented. Only brightly coloured ***** at this point but I was up to seven tosses! While the freaks and geeks headed to carousels in the big top tent, I headed back to my dilapidated den leased on a broken Concord.
getoutbitchgetoutbitch
Back at camp ( hazy lazy crazy ) rivets affixed so I could only stare forward at the wall.
An e.ch-o-y sound in my
left  ear
voice reverberating down thru
t
h
e

w
e
l
l  
past
   t
   h
   e

   b  u  c
   k  e  t

I turned my head,
slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed,
glacial stares softened into slushy moss.
A buttery soft cashmere reply,
                                      i'm sorry? what did you say?
                                                           ­  you seem nice...
.
Infrastructure collapsed.
    ****
Gone.
Crumbled in a heap of rubble.
Impaled by rebar and rebar erections.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
in a black plastic sack
And....then....
Who's to say about the linear sequence of events, anyway?
.

her name was Grace
daughter of the school's nurse
but in the sophomore locker room
after phys ed the boys called her Tubesock
because she was
known to take a foot or more into
her superhuman mouth from time to time
& my time was a quiet wednesday afternoon
when school let out early
for a faculty meeting & no one
was left in the administrative wing
except their children

"I want you to possess me"
she led me a trembling ape
into a medical supplies closet
full of gauze & the scent of latex
(the latter curiously adding girth to my ******* for years since)
i must've been dreaming or
i'd found the ideal mixture
of breakfast
vitamin capsules
& perfect stride during my daily phys ed mile
because good god she was down on her little red knees
incredible mouth already on **** through pants
unbuttoning them swiftly with one hand
actual tongue
actual girl
actual sweet lips
actual ****
which she then quickly released
from a too-small sports bra
during the hardening of the meat slug
slipping it smiling in/out of her mouth-soul
in my head i could only hear
synths
screaming saxophones
bass drums
maracas
permeating percussion rhythm
the closet a dark conch shell
resonating shifting vibrating
like the uncarpeted floor of a dance hall

proud, brave Tubesock taking my pink *****
in as far as it would go
radiating like a sun
teeth to tonsil
cheek to collarbone
with a deep southern-gospel choral hum
vertical as a sword-swallower
performing under a streetlamp horizon
my legs silent & stiff as she sang into it
glancing up at me at the base
making the smallest choking sound/lady like
fumes of her own ****** arousal blooming/flower like
into my nostrils from her scarlet tights
her left hand
holding my coin purse/doorknob like
gently pulling twisting kneading
her right hand
inside her own self
seeking a fire or some source of heat
in the drafty dark closet

when i came too quickly
(still a victory in my mind)
shooting my cannon smoke
into the midnight of her mouth
adrenalin shivering in my shoulders and throat
my hand locked around a lock
of her crimson hair
she unplugged herself & without wasting a drop
smiled back up at me
returned the unstiffened dagger to the
cold nest of my boxer briefs
but kept kneeling in the dark closet
split in half by the thin crack of light i created
as i emerged among the sound of seven hundred bells
to kiss the soul of revolution
a brand new too-tall man holding a lamb
bigger than god himself
standing on steel pistols for legs
shouting cursing beating my breast
under the sharp fluorescent light of a high school highway

The continuous **** of the vacuum cleaner's hose that ***** the filth from your floor.
Cleaning the dirt out of the eye of some cabinet followers.
Stabbing swallowing swallower's out of the nasty bile that smells of walking dead feet for miles.
At last the solemn, stolen watchman wonders the truth of the moment.
The collapse of the structure, the business, the final straw.
The word of the liars mean nothing at all.
All the while we wander about the outer borders of their eyes that ponder unsaid complaints.
**** everyone else.
We are one together.
At last we are one together, at last.

Why should they even try?
We can't be deformed or bent out of shape or form.
Lies they tell you! Lies about the air and work place that swallows.
Standing for hours will hurt your shoulders and boulders fall around when you're down.

You love the slightest bit of happiness that I love about you and happiness surrounds you
everyday completely today about your very lovely being.
I love you.
When we marry the sky we will be soul spirits and sighs of the lights above our eyes
complete the paintings that skies can give to us.

And at last,
We see that there is nothing that will last without us together.
We must be forever and we can be forever.

Let's do it!
Why don't we do it on the isle of the rasta.
Be happy forever.
Let me be yours forever.
Alright.

There is nothing left to eat
but their stomach still churn
and the emergency shut off switch
that will keep them from being hungry anymore
is forever at arms length.

They've watched themselves waste away
trying to feed their swollen bellies on clothes,
hair, shoes, skin, rocks and fingernails.
All slid down their dry throats
and retched their putrid stomachs.

Instead of huddled together for warmth,
they seperate themselves,
hoping the isolation will allow the cold to take them away,
to freeze their hearts and brains.
To allow them to not be cold and hungry, but feel nothing.

Grasping a wet stick in his gnarled hands
one of them tilts his head back
and shoves it into his throat
like a sword swallower on a budget,
and he gags and wretches and dry heaves.

He bends over on his knees
the stick still in his esophagus,
and around the wet, grey bark expells acid,
pure stomach acid onto the ground and burning his teeth.
His body shives but his eyes show triumph.

Maybe they once had genders
maybe they once had ages
but now they have lost their individualites
and remain stinking and pale as the hungry,
the ones not good enough for death.

Eyelidless eyes stare and match into another
pair of sore conjuctivitis infected *****
Blinking but incapable of the solace of sleep,
as they impatiently wait for something,
anything to happen.

Volatile molotov, no alcohol
Required. Simply wait,
Let the fumes build
Until combustion
Is imminent -

That acid
Ravenously climbing
The thin linens of your psyche

Pray,
Scream,
Cut if you must,
But do so
Silently

You mustn’t
Bleed upon their tapestry;
It has been bleached
Pure
And your moaning
Is an ammonia

Your love a glass
Best left
Un   -

Shattered

.

                    (If only I’d remembered
                       How to speak release)

You told me
you wanted
to taste
the substance
of my fiery-soul
& with parted lips,
you spoke godly-things.

When our eyes met
in rapture,
you captured me,
swallowed
all that I had
& becoming one,
I lost the feeling of sadness
& became whole
with you,
the swallower of my soul.

Parody of Eminem's classic "Stan". TW: Graphic ****** content*

The tea's not cold I'm wondering why I
got in your bed at all
my ***** brain clouds up my sense though
and I can't breed at all
and even if I could it'll all be gay
put your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's all I have
it's all I have.

The tea's not cold I'm wondering why I
got in your bed at all
my ***** brain clouds up my sense though
and I can't breed at all
and even if I could it'll all be gay
put your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's all I have
it's all I have.

Dear Jim, I wrote you but you still ain't callin'
I left my cell, my Grindr, and my home phone at the bottom
I sent two messages back in autumn, you must not a got 'em
there's probably a problem when I post often or somethin'
sometimes I wear dresses and get too sloppy when I'm joggin'
but anyways, **** me, up my ****, I'm a power otter
I'll probably get pregnant too, I'm 'bout to be a daddy
if I have a daddy, guess what I'm a call him?
I'm a name him Ronnie
I read about your Uncle Bonnie too I'm sorry
I had a friend **** himself over some ***** who didn't want him
I know you probably hear this every day
but I'm the biggest man
I even got a bigger **** than Dan
I got a room full of your posters and pictures man
I like the **** you did with Rawkus too, his **** was fat
anyways, I hope you get this man, hit me from the back
then we'll chat, truly yours, your biggest fan
another man.

The tea's not cold I'm wondering why I
got in your bed at all
my ***** brain clouds up my sense though
and I can't breed at all
and even if I could it'll all be gay
put your picture on my Facebook wall
it reminds me that it's all I have
it's all I have.

Dear Jim, you still ain't called or wrote, I hope you have a chance
I ain't mad, I just think it's ****** up you don't answer my demands
if you didn't want to talk to me outside your **** you didn't have to
but you coulda signed an autograph for Matthew
that's my little brother man, he's only sixteen years old
we waited in the blistering cold for you
for four hours and you just said "no"
that's pretty ****** man, you'd like ******' his guy hole
he wants to **** just like you man, he likes you more than I do
I ain't mad though, I just don't like bein' lied to
remember when we met on Grindr, you said if I'd write you you'd write back
see I'm just like you I'm gay
I ****** a swallower named Caesar
then a guy named Tom and a guy named Peter
I can relate to how you're playing in a thong
so when I have a ****** day I drift away and put 'em on
'cause I don't got **** else so that **** helps when I'm depressed
I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest
sometimes I even **** myself to see how much it bleeds
it's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me
see everything you say is real, and I respect you 'cause you tell it
my boyfriend's jealous because I talk about you 24/7
but he doesn't know you like I know you Jim, no one does
he don't know what it was like for people like us growin' up, you gotta call me man
I'll be the biggest man you'll ever lose
sincerely yours, Stan
P.S. we should be together too.

The tea's not cold I'm wondering why I
got in your bed at all
my ***** brain clouds up my sense though
and I can't breed at all
and even if I could it'll all be gay
put your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's all I have
it's all I have.

Dear Mister "I'm too good to call or write my mans"
this will be the last package I ever put in your ***
it's been six humps and still no *****, I don't deserve it?
I know you got my last two pictures and I put my dresses on perfect
so this is my *** I'm sending you, I hope you spear it
I'm in the bar right now, I'm doing 90 guys to be gay
hey Jim, I drank a fifth of Bob's ***
you dare me to ride?
You know the song by Macklemore, "Same Love"?
About that guy who could've had *** with that other guy but didn't
then Macklemore saw it all and then had to show he found him?
That's kind of how this is, you could've rescued me from other guys
now it's too late, I'm on a thousand poppers now, I'm *****
and all I wanted was a lousy letter then your *****
I hope you know I ripped all of your pictures off my Facebook wall
I love you Jim, we coulda been together, think about it
you ruined it now, I hope you can't sleep and you dream about it
and when you dream I hope you can't sleep and you cream about it
I hope your conscience eats at you and you can't breed without me
see Jim, shut up *****! I'm tryin' to talk!
Hey Jim, that's my boyfriend screamin' when I ****
but I didn't use his throat, I just tied him up, see I ain't like you
'cause if he suffocates he'll *** more and then he'll ride too
well, gotta go, it's almost in my **** now
oh ****, I forgot, how am I supposed to **** this **** out?

The tea's not cold I'm wondering why I
got in your bed at all
my ***** brain clouds up my sense though
and I can't breed at all
and even if I could it'll all be gay
put your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's all I have
it's all I have.

Dear Stan, I meant to write you sooner but I just been blue
you said you're pregnant now, how far along are you?
Look, I'm really flattered you would call your daddy that
and here's a **** pic for your brother
I made sure to show my mushroom cap
I'm sorry I didn't see you at the ****, I must've missed you
don't think I did that **** intentionally just to diss you
but what's this **** you said about you like to **** ***** too?
I say that **** just clownin' dog, come on, how ****** up is you?
You got some issues Stan, I think you need some **** rings
to help your **** from bouncing off the walls when you get in some
and what's this **** about us meant to be together?
That type of **** will make me not want us to meet each other
I really think you and your little brother need each other
or maybe you just need to treat him better
I hope you get to read this letter, I just hope it reaches you in time
before you hurt yourself, I think that you'll be doin' just fine
if you relax a little, I'd be glad to be inside you but Stan
why are you so mad? Try to understand, that I do want you as my man
I just don't want you to do some crazy ****
I seen this one **** on the news a couple weeks ago that hardened my ****
some dude was ****** over and over like a *****
even his boyfriend was ******, and he was pregnant with his kid
and in their car they found a tape, but they didn't say who it was to
come to think about it, his name was, it was you
whoopsie daisy!

a Bachelor of Arts in BS
and a backer with a million dollars-
See, I had this idea of opening this new concept in restaurants.
I am calling it Rent-A-Burger.
See , we got this microchip that will wirelessly send the GPS coordinates
of the swallower to PayPal and debit their account on the first of every month. It tastes like a pickle so we save money there, also.
Then with that fortune I want to open what I call Title ****,
which will specialize in loans to strippers,

they have only to give me a demonstrational lap dance for me to verify their assets.
It tickles me how so rich I will be.

I got several more ideas of expanding my empire
and getting laid.

My life
has appeared unclothed in court, death-bone by death-bone witness,
and I was shamed at the verdict
and was given a cut penny
and the entrails of a cat.
But nevertheless I went on
to the invisible priests,
confessing, confessing
through the wire of hell
and they wet upon me in that phone booth.

Then I accosted winos,
and derelicts of the region,winning them over into a latrine of my details.
Yes.  It was a compulsion
but I denied it, called it fiction
and then I swallowed it like my fate.

Now,
in my middle age
I'm well aware
I keep making statues
of my acts, carving them with my sleep-----
or if it is not my life I depict
then somone's close enough to wear my nose ----
my nose, my patrician nose,
sniffing at me or following theirs down the street.

Yet not even five centuries ago this smelled queer,
confession, confessions
and you devil was thought to to push out their eyes
and all the eyes had seen (too much! too much!).
It was proof that you were a needle
to push into their pupils.
And the only cure for such confessions overheard
was to sit in a cold bath for six days,
a bath full of leeches, drawing out your blood
into which confessors had heated the devil in them,
inhabited them with their madness.

It was wise, the wise medical men said,
wise to cry Baa and be smiling into your mongoloid blood,
while you simply tended the sheep.
Or else to sew your lips shut
and not let a word or a deadstone out.

I too have my silence,
where I enter another room
and am not only blind,
but speech has flown out of me
and I call it dead
though the respiration be okay.
Perhaps  it is a sheep call?
I feel I must learn to speak the Baa
of the simple-minded, while my mind
dives into the multi-colored,
crowded voices,
cried for help, I've no ******* on me.
The transvestite whispering to me,
over and over, My legs are disappearing.
My mother, her voice like water,
saying "fish are cut out of me.'
My father,
his voice thrown into a cigar,
"A marble of blood rolls into my heart"
My great-aunt,
her voice,
thrown into a lost child at the freak's circus
"I am the flame swallower
but turn me over in bed
and I am the fat lady."

Yes! While my mind plats simple-minded,
plays dead-man in neon,
I must recall to say
Baa
to the black sheep that I am.

Baa.  Baa.  Baa

My bag smells like cigarettes
My body smells like smoke
My mouth is an ashtray
But I taste just like you probably do

I hate smoking
Hate the harsh acidic stale burnt flavor it
Leaves behind on my tongue, the
Match swallower's favorite meal

But every girl I ever kissed
Smelled like cigarettes and smoke and
Tasted like ashtrays
So I wonder if I should maybe just get used to it

Ominousness.
Looming spectre,
Illuminated by the cast
lights of fanaticism

Abstraction.
Looming absurdism,
distorted by the stained glass
of your personal apocalypse.

Consumption.
*******, ravage-ly appearing spectre.
From the mouth of serpents.
From the blood of a bat.

The world cries 'alas' in a throaty bellow,
The spectre dancing in rhythm to the melody of the chaos.
The melody of plague building the roads of conquest.

The many faced spectre drifts across the blue,
eyeing the masses.

This abstract ominous consumption of hope.
Swallower of light.

The spectre walks on water.


We are in the caste net.

Oh! Come
and walk_ Jill
loves to react
He's the Dr. Love
architect
Where is the
miracle
intellects
Jack has better
things
to spell let's not
thicken
Her miracle
saucy roue'

Packages in bulk
You could only
see the
shadow of his
smile
Through his talk
Oh! God let me see
some kind of miracle
Old news Monday suits
marine Army miracle
blue

News on the
*Chronicle*
We all have an alibi_?
No backup plan
If there is any miracle
Who hired this FBI
Miracle gummies
Computers don't
react well
Click away dummies

My miracle Pill
Just chill fireplace
What it cost you
Memory lane
Got a lost change of face
((Jack the miracle
swallower
Iced Frost)) follower
The book
Jack and Jill Monk pill
Getting Up !!! no hill?
Surrender to swallowing
pills more bills nothing
Too Gong **
Santa Claus roundabout

Or squared into hope for
miracles to be practiced
Losing you he has the will
Miracle cleansed shirt
A goldmine of dirt
Gusty--------
He nailed it, Rusty
The  fan is blowing_$$$

The time gets
explosive miracle man
His chin bombing reacts
Moves to show you
So ready charming
responsive
Like the miracle drug
Repeatedly rejects
How he ripped out
your barber carpet
Stop pulling so ruling

To be pushed
It was lightening
thrush

Bolt and the
miracle earth-rush
Changed our love

Aged wine lips
expensive
Lotto riches
come and
go to be fallen

But fate pays to
be risen

Extraordinary
((Ben Hur))

But Hollywood
rodeo drives me crazy
Plastic surgeons lazy
Traveling all Golfers
So in like Flinn

The supreme baby
where did our
money go if so?
So fit the fortunate
outcome
I reckoning?
Who needs the
miracle pill
All bills---$$$ over-charges
My miracle words to be
sprinkled deleted his
damages
To the very
top that's my
guarantee
Be happy and free_

to befriend death would seem wise
to welcome what will inevitably be.
Death is not so frightening, its even
difficult to know the actual moment,
the moment when someone finally
succumbs to deaths unrelenting,
all encompassing grip. Death,
the swallower of all histories, all
persons connect with ancestry. A
finality built into birth, part of the
deal. The part most mysterious.

A leader or a follower?
A sucker or a swallower?
(C) Livvi

sinker
of water’s
heart-

spotless thought
free of bird-

weakener
of hill’s
resolve-

kisser of my enemy-

tireless swallower,
impossible drink-

who don’t
I think
I am?

There were so many words
Floating around
Inside my head
That eventually
I reached an overload
And they began
To leak out
Of all my orifices
Then swamp the room
Then to flood out
Through my open window
Onto the street below
Swallowing swords along the way
I screamed for HELP
But that word
Had already left the building
And been swallowed up
In the now
Gathering tsunami
As my thoughts
Gathered more momentum
Than before
Then something bizarre occurred
As if this wasn't already
Strange enough
As my words
Started breeding
And cross breeding
Black, and white
Night, and day
Up, and down
Before, and after
****, and elbow
As i began
To drown
Night, and day
Became fused
And confused
Together
And began
To melt away
Like molten wax
Leaving only
A starry twilight
And for one brief moment
The words stopped
And numbers
Oozed randomly out
4 7 8 3 2 9 5 6
Then just binary code
Of ones, and zero's
Which then changed
To noughts, and crosses
Then becoming anagrams
Finally
There was a big bang
And all my words
And numbers
Were shot into empty space
And never heard of
Or seen, again
As i was left
Lost
For words
And the gathering
Silence

by Jemia

I, the ringmaster, start the show with my top hat on just right and by my side, the lion tamer.

Each day is a show, a facade to let the world know that we are in control and they are safe from the events to come.

Two little monkeys draw your attention to the center ring, one howling and screeching for attention while the other one looks more like a goblin than a monkey. The roll, tumble, and trapeze around the room they demand your attention. The little monkey goblin digs her way in an around the aerial silks as the silly little howler mocks you and laughs at you more forcefully than any clown before.

Then a sideshow freak bombards you with impressive feats that should not be possible for one so small. He the strong man lifts objects easily ten times heavier than him, all the while balancing them on his head. He the sword swallower confusing, disgusting, and still impressive. He the electic act, bitting into live wires and walking away unscathed.

Last to be seen! The final act! The most beautiful and magnificent! The king of the jungle! As the monkeys and the sideshow leave, the powerful and loquacious mane enters. Not much of a talker but when he roars, the sound reverberates through your whole body. Old scars, and soul filled eyes, tell of his conquest and likewise failures. As he and the lion tamer circle each other in the pit, they constantly play the game of Alpha. Albeit, at the end of the say, they are best friends that only want to enjoy a good cuddle.

Ringmaster, lion tamer, monkeys, freak, and the lion, a smattering of strange individuals relying on each other for comfort and safety. Each day a new beginning, a new show, a new chance.

A family.

My family.

world swallower.

I am not a monster. I am not a monster.
I search the city at night,
Cursed with a wicked obsession.
An ungodly addiction, an unwelcome affliction.
Where have my morals gone?
Or was I just born without them?
If I can't remember them, did they ever exist?
Is it my fault I'm a beast that isn't easily pleased?
To the swallower of anger, I am a masked marauder,
To those unknowing of fear, I am a plague they cannot bear.
One stare, so reckless, ready and content.
They vow to put me and my existence to an end.
I'm shuffled, I'm lost, they simply cannot understand.
Not a day passes where I contemplate if I'm nothing but a flaw.
God makes no mistakes, either inaccurate or nonexistent.
My desires, even bringing me to my knees,
So tired, yet so livid. What a large temptation,
The things we have in this world.
Drugs, money, power, fame, success.
Yet, not exactly fitting to the animal that I am.
The animal I've been, or the animal I've become?
No one cares, why even bother.
I'm a monster. I'm only a monster.

Raindrops on the toe tips of brown leather shoes

It smells like I should be inside, reading.

She comes in a jeep I know well
and when she and I collide in a hug,
the engine still running
I can see the old thing winking at me like it knows
she is the steadiest ******* this planet

A fellow sunshine swallower
she chews up the moon
and eats the mountains, too
eats up all the blackness in  my chest, too

Two schools states away
she hugs the same, always.

Some things, the soul cannot forget, no matter how the hard the heart practicality begs it to
things like black motor oil water
like freckles against light green eyes
like the last time I saw her, the last time there were raindrops
on the toes of my brown leather shoes
and she drove away in that jeep
and I got on a plane

There is no other pain like heartbreak.

Heartbreak is not falling out of love, it is not loneliness
It is the addition of somebody else’s story in your mouth, with no one to tell it to;
Silence in it's worst form.

But as she stands here, holding me, it is quiet
quiet relief

Imagine it:
Raindrops on the toe tips of brown leather shoes
the smell of a grey afternoon
an old jeep
and a girl



--But she is states away again, today--

On the edge
looking over
into the chasm of death.

The swallower
the insatiable
the chomper of dreams

- the disintegration of all this
flesh.

Quitting the short-lived fun—swallower of lifetimes
Oh strict fidelity, deprived for stability
This dull party quitter
Bores the many for longer happy
This weary dull builder, built up!

.

We walked up and down the driveway

Each pace, a page turn
Bringing distance : One dog-eared creasing, by one

Sharp stones skittering bird-like and brittle

We speak
My un-doctored photos

Hanging beside

We swing, as juniper
We shuffle

Caught in a barking fit
As the trucks roll by, rumbling up dog feelings.

Hands clasped together in mutual observation

As the moon swallower slithers legless    in its embryonic mess

Avidly following the sword swallower
and still wondering where it goes.

I used to swallow my words
but I haven't done that in ages,

And it's not that I'm always right
more often than not
I've got it wrong.

When I was younger
I charmed a snake charmer
she
was a bit older,

the snake only wised up when it
curled up in her bed for the night
and found me coiled around ner.

stories for rainy days in Baghdad.

I’m fraying at the edge of your canines
Attentive on March’s hairline.
There are beetles on the ceiling
They are roaming around searching for you
And they find nothing but each other
There's never any middle ground.
Winking behind your ear, tilting
Opening wide so I can taste the light
Inside your throat.
An appetite for rhetoric can hardly be quelled.
Salt-soft and sunbeams
Can the sea know your flesh like I?
Hammered to your nail bed I’m drowning
With every blink
And I’m always swimming in it,
The heat death of the universe.
In my mind you’re sun drying clothes in a meadow
You’re laughing and it drips over the ink like
Wet sunlight.
The more I know about you the less I can breathe.
The beetles, they never meet,
Teething, scuttling, catching in the plaster.
Dust in the air, a yellow film
Settles on your dictionary bones:
You word swallower.
I am speechless
You are speech. A dreamcatcher
Weaves your mind in magnolia cat’s cradle.
The alternate molar grazes on the inside of my psyche
As you play in the rightmost key
Almost inaudible until I press my ear into the hollow
Of your piano.
Where did the beetles come from?
It’s far too cold, the mulch of humanity.
They hang around here like breath under a microscope
Like you in my soul.