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…)

the revolution begins now
in your house,
on your couch,
in your mouth,
spit it out.

the evolution of man begins
swimming and paddling
determined
yet mindlessly adamant
to get through
the primordial soup,
survive famine and
harvest the quinoa and amaranth.

avalanche, avalanche, avalanche, avalanche
facelift, facelift, facelift, facelift.

polticians will suck dick for applause
they will start, stop, then, restart a war
…whatever keeps their hand in the jar.
lets cut that hand off with a sword
when he withdraws that arm,
he is no longer lord
he takes abnormal form
he takes cabs into time square for porn.

I am nothing under this vast sky…
a dust mite born from a sheath of dead skin.

hope it isn’t true what people say…
about the world as we know it, coming to a close.

people don’t go to hawai’i to join revolutions…
but one hundred yard oboes
under a thin sheet of sea

try to vibrate under our feet.

we break communication like bread at the dinner table
honey, shut the fuck up… please…

this isn’t a meal if it doesn’t have cheese.
I’m going to mainland to eat eat.
eateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateateat

delete button don’t work.
emitting my feelings to stranger on limitless networks
puts me at ease.

emotive.

go.

volcano blows!

a rainbow glows plutonium, platinum, palladium, silver… titanium oxidized arian blue
all the armor
inside
your emotions sprung up like a desert rose,
coated your code from the ebb and the flow
until all gold trophies are resin molds… heaven knows truth
is the reason why
people go blind in pursuit.

it’s forbidden.
it’s hidden.
whatever was written was burned
and so as the world turns

it twists
alexandria in its

torque.

what i have come to realize
is whenever you can’t explain/
can’t understand why,
love crushes
without even trying…
just smile and recognize
how lucky you are
to have had your veins fill up with stars.

the pope shifts his fish head, ruby eyes…
god’s rottweiler
stands over the pinecone and under the silver star
condemning and chastising
while tens of thousands of pedophiles
console families in their time of grief.

stars fell from the heavens below
replacing the petrified eyes of the hypnotized

sodom and gomorrah, alive and well
salt covers the floor of their laboratory.

don’t look back
don’t send me an angel

they cracked the sarcophagus of jesus
and gift-wrapped the mummy in
thin sheets of mechanized petroleum,

laid him at the clawed toes of molech
betty crocker and julia child
fall from under each wing, resurrected
chopping onions and slicing carrots
for the whole world to taste the flavor of worship.
again-salt.

god’s rottweiler licks the trails that stream
from my wrists
with the sandpaper tongue
of a pussycat.

i fall in love with a vision,
yearning to disrobe the image and slide down,
it sits on my face.

i wake from inbetween parchment of chaffed calligraphy.
ink from the quill of a drunk scribe
mats my flesh
eyelids, paste shut.

the greatest stories ever told just became real.
the cover is a cheese grater.

open your heart.
now close it-you’re letting a draft in.

Christo, the silk magi
exchanges mediums and wraps the vatican
in caution tape…

Michael Jackson moonwalks across the veranda,
snatching the fish head off of the head of the pope.
slick scales, tail flapping
smearing his red zipper straight jacket in oil.

he dangles the specimen over the rail
of the balcony
like a baby boy
he proudly wants to display
to the world.

it slips from his hug.
hits the concrete like a thousand pound slug
no blood,
just fruit bats, exploding…
blankets the whitest sky this side of orion.

i die for fantasy
as farmers and politicians
sacrifice their first born
to a horned owl.

guano, everywhere.