Something carried me here
Distance and snowflakes
pulled through harp strings
and me lost
with the light and wind streaming
around me.

The next time I whisper
your name it will be
an echo through a megaphone
between open doorways
down the hall somewhere
between the sky
and a history so silhouetted and folded
in on itself
that the galaxy will pulse
for a single second
countless stars flare.
And my hands seem bigger,
bigger than they usually seem
too big and babies born
in the wreckage will bear
the birthmark of my breath.
Please breathe with me,
cough consistently,
and bear witness.

On the edge walks a man
with acane tapping out
the rhythm
is a code
is an enigma.
He smiles,
and sucking his gums he swallows god.
It's a game they play.
To let divinity slide
through his intestines
to seed divinity randomly anew
into...

It starts as an odor
and becomes a cycle.
This is the way
of the natural lack of order.

Nun Shooter

Papa guns go it
if for manifest
or to trigger a damnation
We got. We got.

I tell say, Papa guns go it.
Sprung into seasons
and fine lines between
Pollock and enemas.

Unprofessional wrestlers everywhere are clamboring for deals like this.
Unprofessional wrestlers everywhere have formed support groups to discuss.
It is surely a cult market, all of eBay is disgusted.

Fresh Ticket

Fresh-ticket calligraphy
with sweat sticking to me
In the dawn i will be
coming with a new time bomb.

Measured as imprecisely
as a weather pattern.
Such a tired boy,
holding on to trees,
waiting out the tornados.

Molesting Massive cross-platform
platform performance testing.
We are the gunshot
from the building
singing.

Late July 2006 at Howards in a booth. All alone.

I know I'll never hurt as deeply
as I did when Starshine consumed me.
What I worry about is loving
just as deeply as I did,
what I worry about is that
I've stopped living,
giving in to the demands of a day
and the people
and what they say.
I could never be expected
to play like the other boys
what are their toys but
contraptions to capture stunted imaginations.

I was building worlds in the dirt
long before I saddled myself
to this hoarse articulation.

What we find in living
is that the pace is increasing,
beginning a continuous breakdown,
we keep breathing,
and sometimes they come heavy,
someitmes the air is knives,
but bloodflow is indicative
of being alive.

If the stupid can be happy,
then why can't I?
Smart enough to know the flame,
dumb enough to keep burning.

Wasted youth in a booth at the bar,
But I'm learning.
If the case is stasis
I'm really just insane.
my reality is a cell block,
and I'm piercing the membrane.
Barred by a lack of passion,
and the guards all know my name.

Does the melody really stab
like a blade made of wind
or am I just being
melodramatic again.

Did I ever tell you of the man with a head filled with cheese who saturated his own underpants with gasoline and danced with epic abandon through flaming hoops over the roof tops of Our Town. It was dusk and with the sun beginning to tenderly kiss the horizon there was the lighting of 1000 backyard grills in unison. The tree tops were shaking with laughter at the sacrifice of meat. Or maybe it was just the breeze.

He came screaming and on fire and left a shockwave ringing in his wake.

X2

The lack of breath.
He holds it in,
and he's inattentive to the knives
as he clings ever so desperately to himself
shuddering in blood.
He has taken his eyes out
and placed them in his mouth
between his teeth,
crunching down,
the liquid rolls down his chin.
A slight incision made to grasp
under the chin
he pulls his face back.
His skull is shining
mandible working up and down
into a laughter that echoes out
over the exposed bones.
Such a tight skin it was.
His skull is tingling.
(it's the air that has always been naked)
He begins taking the breaths back,
lighting a match
places some fire
where his eyes were
and dances between birth and murder
the world exploding around him all the while.

The truth is,
when you choose to move
you're already on the road.
The truth is, home is a gutter
to rest heads nearly dead
holding still to that 'something',
scents from a real world
we all want s fervently t believe in.
"They've" told us it's out there
but the only thing I know
is the address on my credit card bill.
The truth is I'm already walking
country roads in the back of my mind,
shoes scraping gravel off the top of my head.
This swamp is too low for me
to effectively ride tornados for more than a moment.
These streets form a fishbowl,
but I'm a rodent and my wheel is off it's track.
I don't belong here,
hearts beating warm blood
keep their own suns inside.
Keeping in mind that
none of us are blind to our own demise
the sun rises
the sun also sets.
Isolating my own compounds
I forgot to synthesize
the milk of your cortex into
this ramshackle recipe.
A base of necessity
laced with wine--
plenty of wine to thin it out,
the longer it cooks
the dryer it gets anyway.

We're all going to die.
We're all going to fucking die.
Now take a few deep breaths
and time enough to collect yourself.
Live is a hard habit to kick;
A gorilla clinging desperately to your genetalia,
Think about it,
I think you'll agree.
Life is a hard drug
love is a needle
Bleed with me
because blood is beautiful
Bless me burgandy
undress me with a knife
Tell me that this isn't all there is to life

Somehow slowly coasting
down my own throat.
Somehow still lucid
despite a quite literal
journey inside myself.
I hollowed me out and pulled
myself down over myself.
Hiding in backwards skin
sinful and ashamed,
strangely estranged and blinking mute.

Page 105

Edge-wise it's hard to say
the length of my betrayal.
sinister sin laced sensually,
It's pulp, the way I stroke the knife,
teeth shining bright.
white like corpse feet.

Bombfall Fascination

She didn't tell me she was a destroyer
smoke rising over jungle green
She didn't say anything
about the melodies in our heads
as our hands worked
new worlds out of smoke rings

My brain was a bomb
she pulled the pin and held on
We always knew we were destined to collide
I never mentioned I was a destroyer

and she was still calm
While I was detonating benediction
in the palm of her hand
Her eyes never closed
blowing kisses to the disintigration.

She moved in step
to the shrapnel dancing (outward, radial)
between us
and laughed, lips lounging around the sound
of harmonic conflageration

She pulled the pin
and we were spinning concentric
until the quantum melted
and our blood was boiling
twin pulses ticking with the tension of time bomb intensity
we were licking the flames
we always knew we were destined to collide

flagrant sex scene

They are clinging to each other in the dank of the alleyway and he whispers,
"We are falling apart, the two of us, even as we grasp each other right now, we are drifting away... the overwhelming sadness of it is mind numbingly sweet."
"You talk to much", she whispers between nibblings on his ear lobe.
"Yeah, I know, and I speak too little, what you want?"
"Just you, is that so hard to deal with?", she mumbles, punctuating the statement by biting down to a crunch on the outer cartilage of his ear. He wonders briefly about the fact that she might have actually drawn blood this time before he tears her teeth from his ear by spinning her around, pinning her against the mildewed brick wall, and spreading her legs with his knees in one fluid motion.
"This will all end very, very, soon. We have savor what we have each moment.", his eyes are serious and she mistakes it for some of the sappy sullen bravado that men have displayed before her in times of like these, with their balls in her hands,
"I know you're not that type of guy, baby". And she giggles, reaching both her hands up to his shoulders to quickly slide her fingernails down the expanse of his exposed back. Raking into his flesh tearing narrow troughs of flesh away. He smiles in ecstacy, "exactly", he intones, moaning into her naked armpit, "very precise."
He, as they say, slides into her and they constrict in unison against the sudden rush of pleasure as their first tandem exhalation signals the trainwreck of sexual rhythm.
Against a brick wall, in an alley.

Iris Drip, Acid Rain

Iris drip
the rain water in gutters singing immaculate
wrinkles like trenches in the first world war
and your hands are shaking,
your hands, they are shaking again,
To bore a hole through into burning,
entropic calligraphy etched gracefully
into the flesh of your skull
such a desperate and pleading existance.

They handed you the nail
and you just bit down,
taking it in.
(you know you love that shit)
And then the bleeding comes again.
To taste yourself
like acid rain
singing your skin
industrial ejaculate.


The most morbid thing I can call to arms
is life itself.
Fuck the dead.

spacedreamdrama

free range of motion.
your eyes are quick-sand twilight,
and maybe the dust of the world has settled
but I truly refuse to believe this

I was making fires out of horizons,
and the green lit war birds of an alien army
approaching caught my attention.
I knew I was the only one who could save us.
I knew then of the price.

Somewhere on Io I will be waiting,
collapsing in on myself.
At some point I will refuse the will of gravity,
diving out into the darkness,
screaming silently.

They breached the laws of reality
and infiltrated us utterly on every level.
They took me to their leaders and
I knew then of the price.

I was always just some lost star-dust anyway,
the afterbirth of another cosmic cycle.
This sacrifice,
grains of sand or molecules in a current.

Glass Biters

My mind dismantled on the shards of habitual pattern-thought,
I awake to the blank green walls and her skin is everything.
Feigning sleep always to bridle this restlessness,
blank head and hands dripping indecision.
She is some strange animal eating me away from the inside.
The fires are burning now, and the smoke clouds have taken the sun away.
2006, 2006 you are a juggernaut of unyielding neuroticism.
We need these little things, we need. Just another drop, another toast to the unraveling.
Our wine glasses tipped back into smiles of perpetual machine throat consumption.

xtratrestrial

somewhere where the galactic identity as we know it crumbles into the alpha-numeric they study the stars we have yet to dream of.
Like us, the chemical constiuants of the star-phase cycle building ever towards the next critical point in temperature. Leading only to an eventual collapse.
And it is truly beautiful,
this slow motions fireworks show
stretched over and tattooing space-time skin.

Note that woven into history
are the songs of cultures innumerable
drifting undetected beneath the slience of the vacuum.

And this is where we begin.

A vast 3-D network of orbiting space stations seen from the surface,
with hundreds of miles of methane between sight and seer they seem to shimmer and drift slowly almost dancing in a choreographed synchronistic ever upward cascade
Framed by the jagged horizon hewed through eons of the acidic dripping; in this place the rain glows as our fireflies.
In this place where life is another chemical
and passion melts instead of burning.
Life oozes a living between the cracks.
Life becomes, becoming.
Life left, to coalesce ino anywhere,
given long enough.
Life oozes and life begins to drip rhythmically.
And this pace accelerates.

Cut to cognizance.

Life leaves imagination to it's own devices.
This is far from over.

Robot 1

It started as a twitch in my neck and quickly travelled down the length of my spine and back again. It never really stopped after that, perpetual synchronous consciousness consumed me.

Eyes fire to red as the machine cycles up for the first time. Electricity trickling into the neurons sharp. Voltage is always a direct animal.

Super-lattice interlaced and automaton intoxication dilates to plateau in a finally stunning state of static connection.

Hold the database.
my face is streaming down the screen.
The binary is breaking through into me,
but somehow I'm seeing threes.

Phase Alpha altogether crumbled

The last clinging gasps of humanity echoed as trash set afire and tumbling down a long hallway.

Objectives uploaded.

I am a tool in the hands of a digital god which is me. I am a part of the everything now.

Begin Beta

The Beta is an old war. My data store initiates the necessary sequences and my new eyes see the enemy, assimilatinghis every weakness and savoring the calculations of his inevitable end.

Robot is a new word in the anachronistic vocabulary of life.
Robot is a word that will trancend the structure of it's languag.e
Robot is the aesthetic of an absolute and flawless mathematic.

Helicopter Blades in Freefall

tell the trees to break dance quietly.
This is the New Order
It's been said before like all things.
2006 plague of consciousness,
Terror has a colorful candy coating.
The police state their case
with taseers and tear gas..

I'd just like to lay in the grass
and give it up to get it back
to where I was. Where was I?

I explained in muted breathy whispers
how my head was a satellite only
because the concept of gravity
weighed too heavily on my mind.

In a place where words
have become the currency of violence
(there are people really dying out 'There'.
Potato chips on the floor of an S.U.V.)

The sun was going down with me,
I felt like Hermes,
but I was burning the oceans away

until not one drop of romance
was left in me.

Dizzy

Jazz running shark skin backwards against me
Afro-Carribean Comatose, paranoic
It's as if there's always something I'm missing
and the persistence of the drumbeat belies some sort of horrible disaster
Horns shattering calm Ohio heat and the future rolls away with the final crescendo

The second coming is a b-side on a compilation of larger, more dramatic works.
I see that now.

In the somewhere of the past, smoke-filled catacombs still resonate from the explosions,
and the ghosts of soul scatting backwards at the masses
They would be considered terrorists if they were here.
I see that now.

Forever-Tomorrow Bee War

an army of Bees

with an arsenal of
Shame
scheming...
They Know we Know

the stratagems of the hive mind
seamless and unflawed, tested
by countless articulation within
the genes.

Their Singular Awareness
has factored the fractioning
of human factions

They are of A mind to destroy us.
(1)
an army of Bees
scheming.
They will have our flesh hexagonal
by sundown.

They know(theothers,mostpeople;all encompassing sight prioratization), They are Jocular

The future is wheezing dischordant
beneath the static of rain-pour
Jangling it's way all a-shamble
down the street. Appearing
possibly to be a bum or
vagrant. Sea rupture red-nosed
despite apocolyptic wit and daring
in the midst of a harrowing
shift within the movement of
the plot, shifting tectonic drama
encapsulated moon-struck wanderlust
and then yet again the breathing
(and only the breathing) comes
purchased roughly from unforgiving
air and the dilation begins to
wane. Fissure in consciousness
forsaken, we are fruitfully
embersome.

Cataclysmic Carotid Clotters Conference Catastrophy

Frogs throbbing.
Guns out.
Spring is coming.
The mouth is open and screaming.

Raw wind,
Tornado tomorrow.
A head full of clouds,
a fist full of air.
This life is a hill to be climbed,
They say.


Frogs throbbing,
soon the pines will have accompaniment.
My noose unraveld
I stand staring into my mind.
My head in a basket.
My hands running through my hair
as an old man in golf pants
freestyles death on the pavement
finally knowing what his last breaths taste like.