Way past delusional,
I drove, forced down
into ******* by noon,
almost ***-***** by that suppressing sun-God.

And I saw something
confusing, but all to truthful.

A Boeng was coming in for a safe-landing,
strafing the sky,
when a Raven dropped from dim heaven
and got ****** into the turbines.

Crimson-mist, across the sky,
and my car as black as a feather.

I rumbled down this carbon-dioxide tunnel,
crying over love, heartbreak,
too drunk to be alive and
still trying to live,
and you know what,
I have nothing
and I wished that somebody
would hit me.

I don't know
if I'm gonna make it back. I need to be more tipsy
than just this.

There's a girl
gonna be in my bed tonight,
who's boyfriend used to strangle her
something crazy
when they'd fight.

GOD,
I could die in her
red-black hair with its pulverizing smell.

I wish I could offer her something more
at four in the morning, when she cries
and I just grab her close--
never knowing a thing
about anything.

Leaden stars crossed her eyes,
and she has told me
she will only love him.

I have had a few hidden tears
in that stolen bed of dreams;
and she sleeps with my kisses:
a reminder of betrayal.

It is six in the morning,
here,
and I am lazy drunk.

I get out the bed '
and leave her
krunk
on maddened sadness.

Leaden stars crossed her eyes,
and she has told me
she will only love him.

I have had a few hidden tears
in that stolen bed of dreams;
and she sleeps with my kisses:
a reminder of betrayal.

It is six in the morning,
here,
and I am lazy drunk.

I get out the bed '
and leave her
krunk
on maddened sadness.

A bad, worming feeling in your belly
because
you've had nothing to eat today,
and
you hopped in your car,
giddy as a bird,
and rolled over there.

There being the magic store;
the store with it's keychains of glory,
bottles of distilled religion,
and a whole lot of prayer
that your debit card sings.

Tomorrow means work
and the evil dollar that drags Jamaican children across
intersections
as they scream at the Americans in taxis.

It seems we all need a break.
We all need a chance to forget
and say we're not culpable
for anything.

This is the magic that'll save you from your whiny conscience.

Sometimes,
you have slow nights,
and hate yourself
for being so lazy.

Other times,
it's an unleashing ****:
a riled-up badger
in your heart;
a\frigate on the best seas;
so much hope,
and the love of your life
hasn't ****** her boyfriend,
only you;
and it really comes out of you,
unspooling on the screen.

It's so much magic,
that your heart greases over with it; and all the little things
bellow.

You are too drunk, now.

But the ulcer juices;
and you know it's finally true.

Since you called,
I've been writing,
here and there,
truthfully,
skinning the night,
searching for meat.

I've peeled back
the clouds: crimson,
the sky: split,
the stars: lit like the mossed edges of a scab,
the cosmos: a ****.

I'm getting weary,
all of this beneath me,
the earth becoming
a speck of dust:
absurd.

The kind of hurt you like to dole:
still there.

Can't I be an astronaut in peace?

Do you like the flattening of me,
into a pancake
like the night:
hammered and nailed
across the hemisphere?

I am the gravity-crushed,
the soul-sored, the black-hole ripped.

Opened and steaming,
I'm under the sky.

The emergency room of the brinking night drugs
and
a story of gleaming scars is my heart.