The sheep that look like over used goat nipples are grazing in a meadow field
beyond a sudden runny- nose- dribbling Texas cold streak. I sit in this chair with wheels, slouching down, eating Echinacea, and drinking vitamin c with a spiked straw. And outside cars drive around doing things, going places, like maggots feasting on chicken bones in a garbage can. Schedules, responsibilities, people, aliens, and the cylindrical resplendent globe bellows an echoing scream in the distant streetlights of ear drummed wandering. A truckload of love is waiting at the top of a choo choo freight train, attached to some messed up gut hut out in Egyptian belly dancing sandstorms. I rev up my big wheel and hit the streets in search of that yearning fast lane.
Attacked by knives. Swollen thoughts. Beautiful smiles. Water soaked socks. Intense sugary sour yelps blaze across the field of Hindu cows, between the goats pink milker. Rolling around in the farmer's dried roach field. She's automatic. She's fizzling electric fireballs of desire.
Sniffing every corner and lifting a leg, squirting scents in the whiskers of another coyote cat turd. Now I'm running naked from my own shadow, and the man in dark glasses who is playing blues guitar in the other room is singing about the endless life cycle, the timeless state fairs, the coasters near hot dog stands, dart throwing prize losers, and winners. She's dangerous. The straw is a toxic embryo.
A fluffy greenish balled up sack of herbal veins is dancing around next to me with a dirty cowboy hat on. The motions. The sun rising from cold creaks, sheik's, torn clouds, planes flying over, with gassed up pilots, and terrorist passengers. Tourists with visa's. He takes his glasses off, lays guitar on lap, slides across the railroad, screaming about my baby now. She
shakes like a loose mind. When my baby walks, people stop and stare. Red Devils. Turquoise angels in tuxedoes. torpedoes, toes, shoes, feet, nails.. turn- eee-- kits.
Gypsy- ripped -black -cat -eyed -stupid -brilliant -curdling- interruptions from British long distant relatives. Double strokes, triple nervous break downs flow in the family tree. I'm going to invent an ice that never melts, that way I would never have to move to make another drink. Lazy, Lovely, Lumpy, loser, lover, winner, whiner, whipped, worms, words.
Alone is everything, alone and alive. Satisfaction is everywhere; I'm a bundle of joy wrapped in a torture bag, hung upside down, with hungry rodents, nibbling like machines on my flesh. I always manage to escape. Never needed crutches. Never wanted molders. She talked way to much. She complained even more.
Smoking Nyquil. Sipping my soul. Illusions in the skips. Looking out the window, smelling the air. Snorting nutmeg. Eating saltines. Fucking up again, and again. Lapping on luxurious silk. Burning down walls around me. Swimming in Morphine. A second past. A zillion years ago. The man in the other room is suddenly playing a kazoo upside down between my books. We laugh. We rev up our big wheels. Head out to that sometimes-invisible fast lane between the plastic tourists, the terrorists, the teachers discount. Dreams of old friends with boxes full of tasty white boulders. The dam dreams. She never even knew about the hospital TV's turning into elephants, cat scans, wheel chairs, the ice sippin conclusions in the never asked questions. She fucked like a goddess virgin porn star. Tube coming out my cock, tube coming out my skull. First thing I need to do is vomit. Hospitals. Stingy doctors. Inventions, decay, sunrises, rain, goats nipples in fields next door, catching my shadow. People, aliens, cures, annihilation, candy lands. My final bait- stuck in- spilled milky sky- hasn't shaved in days. Vitamin C- shriveling Hindu cow burgers. I just pulled a three of clubs out of my ass. Fragments and memories. Dial tones. Questions on the other line. Snapping back for a second. Calm down Mr. Whiskey troll. The head spins. The fucking bill trackers, tractors...
Suddenly...'Ding ahh ling aahh ling,'
phone calls, man, I hate phones...
"Can I have that book on your hold stash!, how attached are you to it!?"
"Not much, go ahead and take it, I don't care."
A wart on the inside of societies core shoot throws a curve ball towards the camera of petrified solitude. The imported Tecate brings back dusted delusions of youth filled Mexican motels, two snoring buddies passed out, me drunk, stunned to be in a new country, taking a dump in a drawer, thinking it's the funniest thing in the universe. The next day the lazy ones make me throw it out a window, onto the blazing sidewalk. I'm hungover, it's like a nerf football falling to the ground, it's not as funny with a headache, but
when it splats, it turns into a brown speckled pancake. We drive off into the Mexican sunset in a red Chevy. A balcony built on the mustered up deli sliced cow tongued- read before you eat- the butcher's pie garbage. She told me she wasn't capable of bailing me out of the blue and red bars behind the verdict's hidden garden. Good thing my back up kangaroo was listening on the other line, behind the vulture's authentic grin. He was eight years old, with a face like a grinded
down muffin truck. His folks use to play John Denver's song, 'Leaving on a jet plane', and pretend to all walk out the front door, laughing at him, saying they were leaving forever, and ever. He sat inside the same place he has hidden since, a place where invitations never arrive, and the jetliners never land.
A seedless summary strung out on- clothes lined- behind the trailer yard over across the railroad shrimp pier. Yes sir, straighten that act up, or abandon ship. Then the chimp gave me chump change and flipped me off; right when I was about to throw a tomato egged grape jam at him. I had concocted it back in my shack over many a night with the mole, and the wash bucket, which eventually turned into my old crazy neighbors puke bowl.
Tell me a happy story grandpa. Tell me the one about you and your army buddies fishing in that lake after the war.
A trivial Tree was spose to be sprouted around the living room - they are eating the still-shelled nuts. Sparkles and ridiculous tears drop onto a 10 cent can - they called life's wondering buffalo butt- It was the three legged wolf we took in for a while back in the gecko era. White eyes, with crimson pupils in the green lawn of a street I can't recall. Nursing milky eyes back to health, he heads for the mountains with a gut load of dog food. "It's always the quiet ones that creep me out the most," Lori says, to the silent wallpapered faces smiling back at her.
Tell me where the ocean falls out of the cereal box cut in the sky's desired crevice's- crustated- dim -wit- couch lounge. Who's that guy? Oh, he's just a greasy young stumbling stallion riding the Elvis horse to some made up yellow brick toad son. Get back to bed now boy; you have a long day ahead of us. It's like a farmer with a bag of burnt toast on the corner of a snowed out
intersection without shoes. It's like a good looking 19 year old girl getting off a bus with no money, no home, in the middle of Detroit's, shall we say, underprivileged neighborhood. It's like a Texas tornado ripping through a car full of roasted lamb shaped hot rods, while the sun burns the over priced leather seats. The timer wasn't set to the frequency requested- the watery gravy, which was steamy, yet liquefied into the density inside peanut buttered relish sticks. Ever let a chicken eat chicken mcnuggets? That's when they will turn on you.
That's when they have the taste of flesh salted sweet- and- sour sauced- blood pumping around saliva glands, like an anorexic on steroids, like a crack head on heroin, a drunk drinking tea, like a village of idiots chasing me down belly spiced toxic tunneled explosions. Ever let a duck eat -at -a- all you- can eat bread bar, till it's intestines blow up from selfish indulgence? Big bird was bartending, you already knew Gomer Pile was in the back cooking yeast and Yorkshire puddings.
A bean is blown from a jar of nasal scented mints. A sleeping solution in a sand bed of re rocked vitalized touchy two headed composer's cookie crumbs. A trumpet you can eat with my banana-waxed solution to hunger filled no liquor law Sunday rain. A swimming pool of comic booked torpedo zits.
"Bring that to the teachers desk right now young man! You can not keep mice in your pockets; you little drug ladled troll of a prince. Now go down to the big D sector and scrub the world a new brain with your free toothbrush, and while your up their.. search for my papers on the revolution in time! Quickly boy! Before they close the clouds again!"
"Right away Mrs. Snoopledunger, right away mam."
Velocity controlled river rafted paddle burger. Secrets served in boiling plum juice, with a grenadine gulped steak bone. I wanted all her porridge after licking my bowl clean. Heart transplants at such a young age. A stroke wasn't requested after the waiter tripped up a trip mine, that was left for the mouse made eagle. More Tecate senior. We are in Hawaii now, laying on double beds; we are watching the love boat on the squared thing, there's a man outside this 13-story room, walking on waves in the warm night air; with Honolulu dancers massaging his formation. I ate sugar. I ran around like an innocent ant. So content, so youthful. I'm jumping up and down on the bed, 13 stories high, with an old man mask on, till you finally scream " STOP IT!"
Roasted toasted deli sandwich
Mervin woke up to the sounds
of KC and the sunshine band,
his blinking stereo system that had been
flashing before his eyelids all night long.
Mervin was 25 years old,
a good age to turn one way or another
as far as lifestyles of the poor and un -famous.
An age that would also consume someone
into a world not everyone cares to visit.
Mervin worked at a golf glove-packaging factory that rich
men owned in some suburban southern California town.
Mervin never gave the future much thought.
Just sort of lived from day to day,
doing what he needed to do
to feel happiness, which rarely came.
Doing what he needed
and the aliens from over
the border
made a lot less then mervin
Finger spaced
astronaut whores
dangling from a red
infected nose sprout
leap over the stereo's
speaker tongues.
blue baby
the pain when touched
like a lost cat at midnight
as packs of coyote's croon
they're hunting song.
playing a harmonica
through my belly button.
a crushed guitar
attempting to erase it self.
baby is blue
she called her self
a crutch
on the telephone
pole
near the gate
stranded
in the rain
rubbery
naked flashlights
distinguishing places
infinity from
her blues
noises, footsteps, ears
parasites with gold
space whiskered women
with
pages
ripped
from history
infections strut
straddle, insinuate
through the faces
and
all
she ever says
is
baby blue
Closing time
i don't
think most
people
would
consider
success
as..
being thirty
years old
and cleaning
human dung
off a bookshops
bathroom
floor
at eleven p.m.
but
most people
aren't
worth knowing
anyway
tittie bar margaritas
un questionably drunk
or I wouldn't
seat myself next
to a mean looking
black man
with leather coat
golden rings
and two whores
of the night
next to him
seated side
by side
vomit on shoe
by accidental splatter
bathroom wash up
i didn't just fall
off the retard bus
yesterday
i can smell drug dealers
just like I can smell cops
i don't care anymore
as far as seclusion
from wants
as far as shyness
make small talk
ask where I can
elevate my senses
with something
i cave to crave
taking chances
both agree
after brief moments
of subtle eyeball paranoia
numbers given
deals exchanged
about time
for dem
christmas lights
to over
heat
with the beauty
of living
in a vast
ill-favored
pine tree
of my own
reflection
joy to
the world
and the
girls
blue
eyed secrecy
on my lap
least i still dont
have all the answers
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