naked and wrapped in my shame
i pass the burning mouth of your mother
the moon pushes the shadow
out of everyones ankles
criss crossing
smoke signals, ash clouds…

i’m off the red road.
the swami… ignore it.

the wind spirits sweep up the ash
to a thousand burnt libraries,
collect in the corner
where ten foot tall men
will reemerge
with the wings of ravens and tropical birds
swirls of midnight, pepper dash
head smashes on dashboard

but… over this lunar landscape of birdshit
the people are gorgeous
but… otherwise, worthless.

here comes the civilized primitive,
camoflauged
in with the
black and white movie stars,
washing their hands of the ashes..

the pyramid builders are
washing their hands of the scratch off shavings
hands stink link pennies
wave HI! to your mom
let the tidal wave
of worthless currency
knock her over
and let it be known
what her worth is, currently.

i’m washing my hands
from the small talk
i am your voodoo doll
here is your chance
to make sure
that the birds that live
in your ribcage
know what to aim for.

feathers fall down from your honesty,
honesty, honesty
becomes the pins that will
open my eyes from the x’s…

i shall rise from the dead and eat breakfast.

(thanks, Paris…)