Uneven in exact poetic terms,
We are old liars, our parents bed lice.
Immortal as I myself have done two
Pedestal declines, two and three, princely
Those principles, this point, orbits by this
Head, between artifice and style; by an
Audition pleased me with wood melting tongue.
Manner method, an old legend of flat
Rounder worm in her anise seed center:
Ceremonies of conium: someone
Said before my feet cut short our words:
Air or breath?
“a cock to Asclepius,” Socrates is dead.
Twelve pieces of skin around the earth.
Sunium to Phasis in Harmonia,
Twelfth piece of skin around the earth.
“Brethren, the pleasure indeed of my heart, and my supplication that is to God for Israel, is -- for salvation”
September 8, 1981: Adelphos, listen! The beast of Revelation is nothing but alcoholic eyes and dead skin. He came from Indiana to Las Vegas with no other purpose than to shit out his last days in a path of paper gold, plastic misery and cheap tar junk. A cream neon cross with Richard Chamberlain eyes sits restless and bound, stumpy bloody palms nestled into the auburn hair of a demon’s chest. Beware brothers, of the concessions and confusions within your desire.
He peels his multiple eyes into his white neck fat. He pulls his blue collar shirt over the alien mass of dried milk. He grunts and walks away with your money.
“We was painted grass, a pack of cigarettes, and you sit there in your fucking piss and shit, you don’t fucking work. If you wanted, the girls’ll get off in the morning, give away a free one on yer’ walk. Run them errands, take yourself down a little bit. Fuck everything you can, you ain’t goin’ nowhere when you come around here. Cat houses and liquor, look around. I suggest a sweet kid walk up Sixth from now own.”
He rises in erasers, playing in the sand, serrated cans, crossing the stoplights with receding acrobatics. The divine have lost interest in keeping track of the little pieces of dust, a pollen womb of eyeless headless flies. Your church basement mouth, a fucking souvenir.
I saw a blind man leading his dog, I saw a blind man leading his dog
Face her in a blue downtown, artificial sodium light,
A brown part of a tooth sticks out of her face,
Asymmetrical lipstick, the smell of wax on
Violated yellow nicotine air, spoken bicycled voice,
A throat smoke sore, caked toad hands, and
Cannibal waste on a
conquered plate, my eluded
elongated medulla and
mechanical fingers sit on necks, come by
bar lights slivering out of the windowed corners,
Grabbing clothes and running games:
Waiting, to go waiting, silence.
Waking nicotine air
Scarboy, I myself have done
Two and three, just
Violet mumbling and humming
And disintegrating.
Ice-covered proverb abandons your pride, sightless gentleman lead a history plague
Down your thighs, and you surmised…red roses to survive.
I saw a blind man leading his dog, I saw a blind man leading his dog