edible contortionists contemplating singularities in the folds amongst loud mouthed black women who wear large hands and small shirts on Sundays between church and the grocery store, staring whimsically at powdered donuts and salty crayons before dry heaving mountainous phrases often involving the poetry of a million deadbeats…fractured plantation living, mutant fetal syndrome meant for the ghetto, no where to stay but the joy of a deadbeat and a new addiction somewhere on a near future street corner, avid with black bags under the eyes and toothless grins bloody with amusement…catalysts for disaster or gratification or someone else’s promotion for putting yourself in danger and committing the acts no one else would want nor forgive, kept secret to everyone but your ego late at night or early in the morning, in nightmares or lyrical dreams bright and twisted causing even more issues the next day waking with a sweaty half smile away from the view of those snoring in the bed next to you or the room next to you or the apartment next to you, for fear of being labeled a murderer or madman or even worse a hero…remarkable justification for the most ludicrous acts no one will ever witness, but make yourself smile in the previous loneliness of your broken home alone and surrounded by someone else or no one else unsure and unaware mystical remembering of old words to songs thought dead from past butcherings in such glossy, glad conditions…cocktails meant for smaller men with worse attitudes, who only leave their houses on weekends to return home drunk and bewildered looking for someone to beat or fuck or berate or cry to about nothing before passing out on the stairwells, stepped over and contemplated stepped upon by those shaking heads trying to ascend or descend to places left cold from open windows forgotten when the day was still warm and sunny with a hint of aromatic flowers in the air…the mischief of dirty little boys without intentions, not knowing any better or worse than the simple crimes they commit giggling with their wide eyed buddies who will one day disappear from their friendship but never be forgotten, maybe not in this particular moment but all such moments in a whole, a childhood typical of such matters as most boys remembering with a hapiness or a tear many years from the moment, old and wrinkled, but always somewhere inside a little boy who wants to play again, like today…corruptible cases of satisfaction and experience tried and true for the benefit of each and every plague carrying cockroach and rat that benefit from the sadder side of life, wars and famine and distrust for or of our own government and the governments surrounding our lonely idealistically fascist nation, leading to the fall of the greater weak, giving way to the weak greater… imbibing attempts at blatant disassociation for a want of relief or dim lighting to occupy the evening by slow meanderings, craved wanderings, tripping through the evening to wake up late tomorrow having hoped some productive attempt had been done, without any recollection of the last twelve hours before losing to unconsciousness, fumbling through scrawled writings and twisted drawings in perplexed-idle contentment of a mission completed, unmanned and delirious producing effects desired for, for no sake but interest in a subconscious mind fully in charge for a moment to voice its own ills and desires and beliefs… polluted gratification for the limbic system often confused with an operative soul when smoking particularly potent materials, drugs or synthetic hair weaves, or small plastic children, speaking with God or the Devil in hushed tones in dark corners of the basement avoiding the family so as not to worry or enlighten selfishly the truths of existence, never remembering the translation when consciousness returns forcing the entire biblical procedure a repeat…its quite deceiving the look on your face, the glint in your eyes, the froth on you lips, the rose in your teeth, I never know what to expect but should have realized what the condition was the moment you walked in the door transparent with a faint glow of chem.-lite green, always with a smile which I assume is for me and am correct but not in the sense I had anticipated, luckily it doesn’t take you long to commit your duty and transgress upon me underfoot again and the one thing that reassures me is the consistency of your actions…wake the fuck up and look at the morning you cock sucker there’s a new sun up that hasn’t been here before and if you don’t enjoy the day your pitifully sad ass is liable to implode by mid-morning extinguishing all potential for you to lank down the concrete and flip off passerby’s whom you only hope turn the corner and immediately crash into some garbage truck of filth, dying with a slow burn, so you can return to your sewage hole tonight and sleep in putrid comfort…some people make it a courtesy for you to beat or rape or kill, deserving it to ends where you are sadly forced to do so like nothing you wanted to do but have been backed into a position of their benefit, a hundred requests, a thousand phone calls, a million warnings, a billion threats until they find you at their door or window or in their bed, actually surprised, introductions with balled fists or dull old knives and a sad look at where you’ve been routed, no hesitation to finish this task and leave the way you came in with this weight off your shoulders and live on with your life as a dentist or desk clerk again…lesions of legions, give them my regards and I pray they won’t come to me, I pray they will stay away, I pray they will fall into some deep hole between you and I and never be heard from again, disappearing from your face, disappearing from your body, from this land, save the valuables, save the furniture, the eyes and lips and forget the rest, forget that which is hidden from sight, forget that which we cannot even ourselves find and take care of yourself, take care of yourself, Please take care of yourself…strategic blackouts, ancient techniques of scared Babylonians and opossums that somehow made it through evolution through make-believe, still motioning from road surfaces today if you catch them quickly enough from the corner of your eye or drive fast enough upon them in rusty green buicks with 4 bald tires, 2 extra antenna and no muffler, driver leaning half out of the car, precariously screaming a drunken warning ahead, with a crafty, evil, beer smile, cans ricocheting in every direction, but the jazz never skips a beat…

---

perpetuated by a billion years
of the Universes incest
with itself
leering at the thought
of another way
smiling at what it has wrought
at what will come and go
at was has went before
pieces of itself
in eons experimentation
analyzed and quantified

what little can be found
what little has been seen

by balding university professors
and obsessive government scientists
dumbed down
for the masses to misinterpret
or understand
infinities own fragments

stuff of the Universe
trying to remember our mother
stuff of the Universe
trying to understand herself

---

weak eyed translucent impartialism

fixed glare on the world

tired half opened eyes

that gleam with satisfaction

at the fact of just knowing

their bearer is fucked



communicating its dismal world

through sight

colors and forms

twisted with taint

turned visions dark



with the loss of eyes

the terrible evidence

of doom and gloom

disappears in yearned relief



with a well aimed stab

hard and true

from old worn scissors

long and dark from age

previously employed

for more trivial tasks



this important bloody work

seen as implements

most important business yet

but seen only briefly

before they are

the final act witnessed

by these eyes forever



except in nightmares

where this wicked lost place

will still haunt

the mind of this tired

screaming soul