the clothes wear filth.

the man wears cancer.

they wear so thin.

Nothing

overlapping curtains

commissioned to paint
the devils portrait.

the sun stays awake
in the ethiopian sky

the villagers hang to dry.

-the work is fine
he says.

-stay with me for dinner,
   its going to be divine.

bartram viscarpratoria.
meldienn te le'an
de aas arfrentenmia.

frey ah deranmos.

tor toranmiasenkredermonoto kri.

chass ta lasanma toro.

toro toro.

shas ve ter
toro toro.

temp, rogue, secret.

without a country.

without a home.

without a family.

-no identity.

a watch with 6 zones.

nothing but time.

nothing but to sit
and stare
and still.

spinning fan blades.

the languge i know.

the gun is the silencer.

the mission is quietude.

a mission met.

the plant paints naked women
in your eyelids
to lure you into
their mouth.

freedom is a hallucination.

what involves you
is decoy.

the enemy is benign.

passion is an object
which fills you,

making you
a carrier of
waste.

in a triumph there are chains

          connecting the mad-men
  from           cell       to        cell

  where the plants grow in the dank
  humid
  rot.

keeping men company.

keeping madness close.

keeping to themselves.

i live in a helicopter over the city

everything too ***** to land

i see crimes from here
and i dont care
who lives
or who dies.

i see horses running races.
winners resemble losers.

the ocean is sewage
the sand is termites
the streets are drains
draining the victims.

wives and families.

the people are bobbers
to catch goliath beasts
from underneath.

   they sell their bodies for *****
                       filthy
                      clothes.

to cover up
their shameful ashes.

deep down
they want what i want,

me and the goliaths;

they want to crash
and choke
and be eaten.

someone to set a fire
to clean up the mess.

a fire to clean itself.

the talking cactus

or the man who eats it;

which has the sanity?


        and the cactus,
             she speaks
               his life
               to  him
               in visions.

     tears from her eye
      mix with
      drool from his
            sagging mouth

   what is melted
     is neither soul nor sand.

"Many men go fishing
all of their lives
without knowing
it is not fish
they are after."

the dolls stare at me

waiting for me
to come to life.

but they dont know

im watching.

you can teach a man to fish
but you can not teach a fish to man.

he howl at the moon

bark at the sky
to keep it secret
from the sun

gonna marry me a skeleton

gonna bury me a bride.

sat at the wedding

until somebody died.

the sky smiled

and the earth opened wide.

idle hands will **** you in your sleep.


                              Fin.

i see a room i remember

and a room filled with strangers.

ghosts sitting in odd chairs.

some know the other

but it is my reunion.

no words.

theres nothing.

theres nothing i can speak.

if i break the silence
they might leave.

life is the weekend.

and death is always monday.

until one day
you realize

that monday

has become the best day you have,

meaning soon

you wont care what day it is

and eventually

you just wont know.

the scene is quite remote.


     .sinful.


                               .transitional

she,
     a witch.


the well,
   poisoned with snakes.


the town,
       dead.

its grave,


       our bed.

it is not because of my talents.

or because i am very smart.
  and spiritual
   and connected
      creative
   and the way im
    deeply touched,

but it is because
    i am    insane;

-that is the icing
           on the cake

        which i lick clean
  off my ***** fingers.

an extention chord

plugged into itself

slithering passed the people

crazy man speaks to me
i cant hear the snakes
in his mouth

it lives outside of my body.


left in one piece to be taken

all at once

in a careless
swift
motion

by those who must not know

why its there
for the taking.

i let them have it.

and they abandon it.

but i find it.

broken and homeless.

i take it in
and care for it.

bring it back to me.

bring it back to strength.

so we can perfect the art
of seperation.

she plucked me from

her cherry tree.

she ate me.

my red is ripe.

it shines.

her mouth is mine.

your nightmare has legs.

it pays you to
watch it shave
and you accept.

i am this way

because it is

my greatest

masterpiece

the floor is

broken pieces

on the floor

broken pieces on the floor

spit up dust

theres a bird
in the vending machine.

if you pay to let it out

god will reveal to you
your heart.

for every time ive sat with it
alone inside

listening to the buzzing air,

the third party.

i knew something had died.

**** the skin
off your body

your hearts

beating

wet

when i have ***
with your skeleton

enter
and
enslave

your dreams

my hands
are two animals
fighting over
a piece of meat

fire lit smoke clouds
rain water.

they all died
and im crying.

a darkness alone
in the human.

where it is wrapped
in perfect peace.

perfect pleasure.

drinking its sweat
and talking its philosophy
in full detail
to itself.

-laughing.

-grinning.

swirling its ten-inch finger
around the rim
of its glass-

-it is the ringing in your head..

drunk in the cave
with spiders
walking
through
the nightmare
carrying away
the vaguer pieces
on the well defined rine
of their oil-slick backs.

nesting
and nurturing
incestuous pods
to light the walls.

to ignite the glow
of its vacant grin.

the mist swims out
and dies.

scanning your body
and watching the show
of your soul decomposing

with its ****** eyes

half open and
tasting you.

rotting the tongue
which talks in
your broken,
burnt-down
asylum of a mind.

baby velvet shoes
made from the
finest babies.

the clouds come down
off their cloud

im able to bathe
in electricity
and how

it communicates

the senses appear
and disappear
in many
places

i am left
to understand
what it is to be
a basic condition
encapsulated
by color
ozone and
light

she could perform
a botched surgery
with precision.

the freshly dead
would throw
their arms
around her
casual frame.

and the heart is in the mail.

everyone

     broken
     pixels

down to
       zero


             zero waits,

                    still,
       motionless,

  unmade

for the thousands of years

i have sat

waiting.


knowing:

all the trees
one day
will bend to your will.

how you look at the lines
and they disappear.

look to the side of a star

to see it.

make love
out of loneliness.

**** snakes from your skin
one by one and
in masses.

the mother lizard
vomits her egg
and the child
lives there
forever.

until the dust syphons
the bones from this cage
we are a constant, ripening, pulse.

"good morning dave,
i just wanted to tell you
that i said hi."

"thank you
for telling me
that you said that."

the sky is stuck
in a loop
repeating

the tongue is black with words

and dripping sweat

with fever.

it sheds its skin
to shed your skin.

until we're razor thin
and transparent.

youre in the sky
pouring everything
out of your mouth.

i was dry
but now im drowned.

god got old
and i got wise.

everything dies.

love stays young
it gets you high.

its in your lung.

the body is
draped over you

the moon and i
have had a
long distance
relationship
for many years
and still manage
to make love
constantly.

like a lover
whos a stranger
living in my attic.

sometimes full naked
or an open robe

but sometimes
off drinking
with strangers.

and im left
in a retrospective
with no reflection.

it walks
on the legs of the land

through the length
of its own persistence,

sits on its shore
to watch it wilt
and breathe
and bloom

nurturing its
beating woumb.

it buries the earth
in its still-born heart

casting shadow
to the audience
of a desert.

it burns the edge
of its derelict fire
with a quiet
competing fire

and melts the sand
from its life

until it is ready to rest.