Breath in ice,
harness the frost with horse collars.
I keep remembering
I forget what I know.
Bite reality, this cigarette smoke
flows like gin,
tastes my soul.
I fall into a bottomless hole
as eternity folds.

The words get louder
the farther I go.

IF YOU WANT TO FEEL IT, FOOL IT; GO WITH IT PHYSICALLY

Instructions on how to have a good trip; just take the opportunity to thank:

1. The outside for the opportunity.
2. The inside for being able.

FOR EVERY BIRD CAUGHT IN A NET, ANOTHER DIES IN ME

Sometimes I can’t remember, sometimes I can’t forget. Acting, behind sad eyes only more sadness. Imitating others, trying to please. Insecure, shy and beaten in the moonlight. Battered eyes broken by people needing love. Sold to touch sacred skin. Beaten black and blue by cocksure parasites. Shake loose all concrete; close eyes and see gods riding ponies. Smile shyly at strangers who know how to cope.

Roll over and fold arm over eyes. Sad eyes panicking in the face of love. Eyes that have seen too much pride. Eyes cry softly for a different past. Eyes open, looking for people to please; see hateful faces with smiles and cruel words. Evil eyes that know nothing but blame and sacrifice. Junky slaves that know only the joy of cooking. Eyes watching me like I’m a blanket to smooth out and admire lovingly. Accusing, lonely people watching me dance from empty windows.

Hearts exposed under the moonlight and banished to the city. Ancient eyes weeping. Given up on dreams, forgot how to live. Lost all love to broken souls. Sadness, broken and blue, forgotten under watchful eyes of indifferent gods.

Once, when I was young I reached out to touch, and felt her reaching back.

Now I cry
she punched me in the brain;
flattened my face,

my eyes.

THE DEVIL IN US IS IN HIDING

Yeah sure,
he blew
smoothly,
cooly,
craving a cigarette.

Poetry is wind;

wild glowing faces,
eyes marching in pairs into
your
memory. Chalky bones, peeled wax, and wool so lifelike

you’ll swear it’s real.

Steaming electric shocks across wet charred horizons

BREAK

into bones hanging from webs in cellars of wooden rafters.
Ride ceramic beads of dew where footprints are left only in the armor of sandy time.

Lost in a whirlpool of words, sucking diamonds from the center of my heart.

Dry ears collapse to crawl back into my brain.

I no longer believe in butterflies.

Her eyes were grey as death,
skin brown as life.

AND DREAM OF SLEEP

Sometimes I sit back and
think,
like a seal,
that I got something to think about
‘till you come along.

Why did you leave?

Gone
just like that feeling.

Unnatural,
… planned.

Why can’t I call you and talk?

HERE TO GO

A strong feeling of despair here,
draws me in. I shouldn’t be doing this.

She chews gum, not to the beat. To what?

I’m trying to be an alcoholic, better than a not poet.

No rhyme this time, just an ocean of regret.

I’ll read this later; because I shouldn’t.

There it is again.

Where?

ALL ROADS LEAD ME HOME

Everyone is unique, only some less respectful than others. Insanity is lacking the ability to be understood. Watching the water spin, the wheels of my mind mill out the images. Curse this goddammed dirt, it clogs my gears. What kind of love letter pleases these steel shells I see walking from around buildings? It’s been buried in our numbers, painted over with layers of water color. Break the glass and run down neon tunnels.

She told me to wait at the bus stop, but I knew that she wouldn’t show:

“Hold the hammer, dear.”

“Only if you give me your keys.”

“If I was a dime, I’d roll you over.”

“I can’t be bought that cheap.”

“Why are you so intense? You know I can’t love you when you speak spanish.”

“Where do mice play? I’ll tell you - they play in our bed, it’s so unused.”

“Get back to WORK!”

I once saw a movie where all the characters had gold dipped canes. One man’s meat is another man’s poison. If the devil catches me sleeping, he will turn me around; as dreams only come to those who pray.

“Help save the day by becoming one of those that dwells in the dusk of cow dung”, said one fly to the other. “What gain is there in advise when this shit tastes so sweet?”

MAKE ME BLEED THE BLOOD OF ANCIENT WARRIORS AND DRINK THE SAVIOUR OF LIVING LUST.

Too many gods, and not enough masks. Uncaring eyes that drown out sympathy. Time does not forgive; does not forget. There are lapses when one plus one does make one, but that soon passes and leaves me in my fog of doubt. What do flowers own besides that broken heart which I call my own? Confusion, christ, and snow fall from the heavens to smother my thoughts.

Make way for the future, for it will be. It will come like a rocket, shot out from the darkest moon to harm our children. Make way for cars; god is ignorant of our efforts. How many oceans of tears and rivers of blood must flood before I am loved? I pray to god for forgiveness, but god cares not for forgiveness so long as he has the future. What mark can I make upon this hellish victory? Actions speak louder than words, and all my words have already been spoken: Where will we run when we run out of lies?

Two pieces of me have flown into the afternoon sky; my love is distant and ridiculing, my courage has sifted into the sand and rests with the creatures of night. God does not live in words, and my words are read only by him. Make me a king and I’ll show you a clown, make me a father and I’ll show you a god. God this is shit, and shit this is not me. I am another man when god comes knocking; I am me. Pray to the earth and yell at the clouds.

Yes, well, every day has it’s dog, and every trick it’s price. I’m not into price, I’d rather love. Where is love? Love sleeps at the bottom of this poisoned well. Love is an ocean of blue in a world of grey. Love is the line that separates greed from money. Love is the soothing wind that blows the hair from our hats and makes us feel foolish. Love is the sound of the typewriter that wakes the neighbors and sends the dogs howling; drown the rats and throw their bodies into the fire.

Money swims in seas of blood; there is no pain like the evil found within its vaults.

Chapter 2 iz

THE LIGHT AT THE BEGINNING OF THE TUNNEL

A new book, new beginning for old endings; tempered straw shooting up under drawn wingtips.

Beware of eyes scanning horizons from the sidelines. Beware of too many asses jumping for joy at the least encouragement. Beware of accusations tossed back from the mirror. Beware of tired smiles grinning foolishly in their sleep. Beware as black becomes bright and fireworks splash across pools of clean blue cool made beautiful smooth soft fuzzy felt.

Son of the antichrist, no amount of love could satisfy his greedy soul.

I’ll give up living, gave up loving long ago. Give up hoping, give up waiting. Give up wishing, give up wanting. I’ll give up everything that means anything to me, only to stop hating myself. Always letting myself loose myself to any endless feeling of unfathomable loss.

Let’s crack them open over my book; like little children fighting over crayons, creating confusion and calling it art. How shocked they act at any appearance of expression. Evil, running through veins like angry neon. Open up the third world like a briefcase. Touch down on deserted landscapes. Alien pods feeling around for life; saddened by the broken potential. Lost to the time stream, I’ll drown in the trapped energy. A christmas cactus, lit up like a birthday cake.

Bit in the behind by a firefly. Caught between my own desires of longing, and songs of making a difference. I really don’t matter to those of us in the middle.

Some exercise in insanity has once again got me by the balls. It’s all so jolly as we fling ourselves into the great beyond. One day I’ll fall in love with someone just like me, but without all the hangups. As crazy as it sounds, I only hear the laughter coming from hopeless places.

Tearing my eyes out of their sockets, I hide my hands in poor pockets. Does anyone get the meaning when it’s only intended to illuminate all that confusion? Charged up on other distractions, the focus looses itself in any description. Yeah, it’s hard chasing soft shoulders desiring nothing more that to be stroked by severed hands.

Like a ghost in the darkness, I’ll cry to myself in a precarious position. Strike something solid into these pathetic feelings. God damn, I’m not myself when I’m alone. Always dwelling on the loss; as any other choice casts me into an opposing embrace.

She’s so seductive, trying to draw attention to her casual avoidance; yet I’ll always be distanced by all the distance. The forced bonding seems all the more suspicious by the mutual benefit. Am I really the only one to see the distraction in it’s entirety? The level of constriction rises above the threshold of easy sex; or something like that.

Anyways, the main idea is that the grass is always greener where it’s loved for being grass; so the next time you smile at me like a juggling leper, remember that I make my own bed of nails; and no amount of wet dreams will shake off this feeling of misunderstood passion.

I strive for originality, although my arms simply cannot stretch far enough for me to hold onto any romance.

Expensive tastes some whisper in the ear of death. I’m so horny tonight that no amount of intellectual purging will be enough to convince myself of superiority. Slam locks down on trembling feet. A short history of how the west was buried. Ha-ha-help! Boo-hoo-who? Einy-meeny-miny-love. All the kings whores, and all the kings spending, couldn’t make the castle anything but a prison.

Come on, wake up and smell the destruction. Race along with me beside some smelly engine. You’ll believe anything but the truth, swallow the sickest pill with a smile as long as it promises you a little attention.

Let me try to make myself clear here; my love is reserved for those that can feel. Don’t spread your manure on the sidewalk and tell me that we’ll be walking through eden soon. Hear what I hear, not what I say when I’m hiding, all alone in a busy restaurant. Pay no attention to the guy who lost the world but gained peace of mind. I just want to close the doors before the curtain falls.

BUSTED IN TRANSIT

Man oh man, they are so predictable in their refined christian movements; touching themselves so tenderly while allowing such sacrifice to smear the scenery. See how she ignores his cries, it brings her the power she never had as a child. Stroking his face to remind him how he must try to share the confusion in order to let it grow. “It’s pleasure that’s sin, not the act.” How can we overcome this generational wrong?

Suddenly it’s so painful to say these tragic negations. Metaphors, for lack of something bitter. I’ll blast off into the ether. Either on, or either not. Not before, but after all. Best be forgotten; but for a princely sum, held onto. Always told to hold, held too long. Left to rot, rotten to the core. Sore at some past injustice, disgusted with myself.

It’s the same old solutions, without understanding any of the problems. Burning our way through another life without any regard to the facts. Out of breath avoiding the eye of the hurricane. Everything in anything, and anything in everything. Understand? Blink twice and it’s all over. A perfect script for a perfect movie for a perfect evening for a perfect moment. Lust as a substitute for divine retribution.

Gee, it sure is scary when the memories can no longer be trusted. I’ll document my beliefs on etchings in a tattered notebook. Taking it all in through the ears, I twist it so it somehow makes sense.

The corporate giants lure us into wet dreams of utopia with no endings. Smack dab in the deep end, I’ll fight against the current to the death. Can I help you find a better solution, or would you rather find something else to remind you of smiling gods supporting abusive messages?

Listen to yourself as the moment passes. It’s not hard to do if the bow is already drawn. A creative genius dies with every word. Intimidated into beliefs of rebellion and immature self definition.

The frayed thread tugs valiantly at the old leaky bucket. A brand new attitude is about to be immersed into our age old arrogant approaches. The rumble can be felt for as long as the eye can see. Unhope, unbelief, unknown, understood. Destroy, distrust, disassemble, discuss. The calorie count rises like an off balance tower of the impoverished. The bulb beats a steady pulse to a forgotten formula; holds us still in our sharing of ancient arguments.

Should I bother to scream into the silence? The reflected rush is no relief from the inevitable itch.

Pissing away time in cold surroundings; designed to make one feel important while encouraging a speedy withdrawal once the money is spent. A life lived in a foreign land. Writing myself into caverns of destitution, I’ll smile inwards; for that’s the only place it seems appreciated. The message is only appropriate if it provides relief from self serving Nazi nightmares of hidden labor and unchallenged sacrifice. A bourgeoisie ironic dialogue, and flowers made of the purest white virgin hair and smiling deep blue eyes; only not for me. Fast asleep at the end of another anxious day.

A cabin rots away in the temperate jungle, once a community thrived here. A frown crossed brow; trying to see past the onion waves. One day he realized that he could speak the foreign language, but he was too old and sick to say anything. The tear briefly left it’s mark on starched sheets. What other ending could there be? I’ll let you decide.

What kind of garden have we planted? God, I need a drink, or something stronger. Zap all the zipperheads into submission while futily pushing the questions into the background. Who can answer this call of nature? Brand names forever branded onto the subconscious. The great minds brought down to subordinary levels.

I don’t understand the words, but I can guess the meaning. Something about not being content; demanding more than just another day of the same old struggle with shallow attitudes. Me, I’ll float around in this cesspool until someone notices and flushes me finally to my fitting end. Walks with a limp, runs like hell. Granted the respect of a stalker, ignored until no more. Disappeared by all those engineered eyes. Uneasy, waiting for the music to start again.

Home, home on the razor. Roaming across cosmopolitan landscapes, they are all related to some function of repetition. Blasted goosebumps only remind me of downy feathered feet. The machinery favors inertia. Is it my imagination, or am I really insane? Venting like Goliath:

They taught me how not to learn.

Really really trying hard to be heard. Seven days later and there’s still no sign of another week gone by. Alone at the start line, I’ll race myself to the starters pistol. That checkered flag only represents a two dimensional manifestation of heavy dyes and destructive bleaches; no silk trophy for my pointed emotions.

Sometimes I’ll lie back and suck in the energy until I feel like exploding. Sometimes I hate the way people can go about their lives just for the sake of doing so. It’s no longer just a philosophical debate; the cat is out of the bag, and it’s very hot.

I saw a very interesting show this morning about how changes can really fuck us down the river. The only people who really knew what was happening were the victims. However harsh the reality, they insisted on singing; for the ultimate pleasure of the butchers. Change the world, not the channel.

Humor seems a very noble distraction, for it can drive home the point of all the pointless challenges. Helping out, without helping at all. Really smoking the butt down to the last wire. The sky is falling on deaf ears. Fuck it upside down.

I can count the lessons on outstretched fingers, or choose to avoid the issue entirely. Bring on the bubbles! Turn the controls so that they all, once again, point towards the equator. What use is staring at the storm? It must be some inner demon lurking in closets, like martial arts.

Sometimes the light shines so bright. That’s all there is to that; except for all the surreal exceptions. Once was, always is, and always could be. Running around this little island; life waits for no one. No more easy escapes into the spotlight. The beads of sweat remind me of something else. Kept on too short a leash for too long, this freedom tastes like bitter tears. I’m heading away now, into the mirror.

The ammunition lays scattered upon my intellectual landscape. Be careful or you may end up wearing my hat. Sure it keeps the flies away, but also know that they simply make their nest in less windy places. Our pursuit of an attractive lifestyle; I could write a book about all the broken rules. Measuring myself up against all the great rebels. Shaping doubt into arrangements of toxic smoke.

Gone, reeling in the fantasy.

ANTIMATERIALISTIC

The view is fantastic, as usual; but fatigue twists the shapes into strait lines. Broken into a weak semblance of reality. Hues of blues and grey dot the landscape; tiny figures trek their way along rugged horizons. Blast the vision onto three shoulders, anything but the present. Blast the crunching deep into the grey matter; take it all.

A life, my life, any life; what’s if worth at the end of the day? Frozen to the aluminum moneybelt. Tight as a fist. Locked in half to my shyness. Beating the shit out of myself at every opportunity. Lost on the river. Temptations which float my vindications; absolutely valueless. I’ve got a bad feeling about today, like the alignment’s gone and the frame’s starting to shake apart. Numb to joy, reverence, or love; bash my head in with an eraser. Why should I give a shit when it can only come around and slap me in the face?

She needed a change, and I took a turn for the worse. Strip away the anger and there’s a whole lotta pain. I’ll detonate the bombs in my mind. Fearless, no one can relate to me. She wanted to teach me to win, to get power and love from other people, but I was lost in the questions: Don’t they ever even want to give? The power of persuasion taking me away to another reality. Leaving my mark to be admired.

Carefully I step my way around unfamiliar obstacles. I’ll create my own version of what’s going to happen. Talking trash while the trees fall by the dozens. Going places in my mind that I’ve never been before. My life a mess outside the doors of perception. Slam my ego down on top. Scrape the edges with a rusty razor. Milky glass walls inches thick. Mime an invisible sledgehammer to freedom.

POW! and another image of pampered faces frowning behind powdered wrinkles. Injustice invisible under inspection. The hole closes tight around our choices. Banal, unhappy faces stare strait ahead towards an industrial overture. Bad actors, acting badly; proud of their achievements.

Take a look at that favorite part of the world and say goodbye. Make me bleed rubies for failing species. Hold me down while planets collide. Build a fortress of garbage and wait for some understanding. Laugh last, as we raise the stakes once again.

DIS’ ON IT’S …

Never mind that it really matters. I mean, what can I tell you? It’s really not so swell to feel grounded, kind of like digging the toes into a dying stone. Hunted by the heavy void, I moved over 20 times before I had to get old; and always to the same dammed places. Guilty in the denial of a life lived as a lie. The questions make no sense when answered truthfully.

Sitting on the side of the end. Doing the only thing I know; putting it on paper. People pushing me towards the fire. Alone in the crowd, squeezed through the emotions, leaking essential parts into the machine. Blasting the inside out into the outside.

Freaky forces; fondling, fucking; feeling foolish for finding familiar fears.

Hiding these useless emotions until they burn up my landscapes. Doing nothing, for no one’s benefit; my total withdrawal from taking risks. Experimentation on the boundaries of loneliness.

I’m curling up into my own belly and it makes me nervous. Overboard, in the deep end of the ocean. Flippant, on the hottest part of the desert. Playful, from the dark side of the moon. Knowing where the keys are doesn’t necessarily make it possible to find the right doors. As for me; the words are provided from other mouths. I only combine them into meaningful ironies. My heart has fallen in love with her muscles, but I digress again.

Looking forward for a purpose, seeing in myself the stone cold anger on my deathbed; unheard while islands sink from supporting the dreams of losers. The world resting on withered wings. Identifying illusions of ideality; illuminating allies of ill emancipations.

SEXCESS

Bars, busses, dance halls, sidewalks; it’s either terminal love, or floating.

Her chocolate skin, like some dish on the menu. I want to kiss her kidney beans, drink her goats milk. I’ll rest my ear on her heart and pull her in by the balloon. Let me taste her sundae, float on her waves. I can tease her lollipop, cross her plateau, explore her fault lines. I’ll open her drawers, dive into her latitudes, race her horses until they no longer care. Fascinated by her birth, in love with her rebirth. Please let me behold her golden crystal, let me breath her misty passion, let me make sense of her loneliness, drain her of her last nightmare; massage her ass.

Oh how I want to show her this poem; but I know that it would only make the possibility even more unreal.

THE TITANIC; BLOWING CHIMENY RINGS

Sometimes the sadness comes from the view of myself from a distance. What can I say when my life’s a locked door? Comic book looks and silly substitutions for another lifestyle. Praying for the phone to ring. Devastating sermons, sabotaging any significant decision from the past; like a sledgehammer upon a pile of shit.

Third world views in a first world asylum, two politicians fight over the right to rule the remains. Alice has left the scene entirely; taking with her the mad hatter, the wizard, and all the monkeys.

As the best scramble to gain control of their lies, the angry leftovers drool over the prickly sticks. None to soon for a sudden ending. Trapped in a life, I never wanted to wait alone for eternity. I’d much rather laugh at myself; pathetic and polite in an empty room.

Smack junk into my expectations. Shove my pits into the most sacred place; the end of the beginning. A very black ship has sunk to the bottom of my ocean, rusting and leaking rancid electricity.

Strange behavior in the inner chambers. Odd displays of inverted pecking orders. Money speaks louder than any reply. All so correct as we peel the excesses off each other’s backs.

Taking the time to make a total asshole of myself. I should never try to imagine any different ending than that of a crappy actor. I’ll find my motivation in an altogether different scene. Mysterious? I don’t know that it even applies to someone who cannot comprehend it’s meaning. Like great men have said, leave the fool alone to appreciate his misery. No more questions, the answers have made themselves all to painfully obvious.

I still hate them for creating such a horrific environment to shove down my throat; only one word provides relief. Microscopic suggestions snap the floodwalls of elastic stark raving fear; the other side of crippled. All the good times were only mere reminders of the inevitable suffering I would put myself through. The pleasure exists only in the fantasy. Whosoever strays too far off the chosen path is doomed to spend his days wandering a frozen dream.

Don’t feed the instincts. Don’t pet the personality. Don’t let the examples fool you. Too many open ended walks for a friend to find me in all this self centered criticism.

SCENTSE

Surrounded by germs.

Being a stoner does not always imply quality; but way more than not, that’s for sure.

The most incredible thing about spotting bigfoot was seeing his large intelligent eyes; just like light bulbs.

Something lurks at the bottom, and it resembles my reflection. Some would carve it up to attract another to mirror their sense of security.

Me, I’ll draw an apocalyptic dance on the sunset so as to remind myself of time belonging to villagers squatting beside the garbage; waiting for those responsible to notice the difference. Fallen species serve to cover cheap lessons of sadistic betrayal. Follow the chain to the center of the chest, like a prowler with a fat wallet. The invitations pour in, but the drain remains unplugged and holds no hope.

Spank the dog and scold him to his room without dinner. Burn the words into hidden ears with an air of casual concern. Excuse any and all pain as some kind of twisted pleasure. Wait positioned for the next attack.

Looking so fine in the flat cotton. Let me try to keep this simple; don’t try to stop the flood from rising when blood tastes finer than the finest wine. Blasted boyhood dreams and some other religion.

Going… going… goin’… go’in… go in… go… in…

IT 8 MY 6

“It really is so tragic,” said the squirrel to the fox, “the way those false gods enjoy their suffering. Target in on the pursed mouth, the way they seem to reject the annihilating of the soul; digesting our lives for no other reason than boredom. All the colors of the spectrum are not enough to illuminate my isolation. My love is a waterfall. My love is a volcano. My love is nuclear fission.”

Burning in the pockets of evil generations; turning myself inside out once again, until I no longer recognize anything. Still, there is so much blame to share in this empty room. I’ll dance like a hero on unmarked graves. Sending pieces of myself out in each faltering sentence. Simply not satisfied with not having enough; as every gift comes with a price.

I couldn’t be lonelier if I tried; I’m so lonely I don’t even know I’m here.

Hero son to free door. Alive; fix heaven late. Dine zen…
All even…
12…
13…
14…

ESCAPED GOATS

God damn those animals, they just shit on all my trophies; and God damn those children, always getting under my feet. God damn numbers, messing up my life; and God damn the government, telling me what to do all the time. God damn each and every one of you who doesn’t understand my interests, standing in the way of my happiness; and following any asshole spouting off about love and other such fantasies.

Lift the blame high into the stratosphere and drop it like a jellyfish to clean up the filth. Toss dynamite down the sink; fuck the sewers, they don’t do nothing for me.

God damn god, what has he done except to make my life this fucking muddle to rise above every fucking minute of every fucking second. God damn all unworthy leeches stripping me of my god given dignity. God damn all lying cheating foul creatures making life impossible for us enlightened people.

CHUNKY

She finally sent me a poison dart to chock on; as the sun crawls it’s way across the oppressive sky like a snail on my smoldering heart. I’ll never know how to respond without crying myself to sleep. How many more why’s will I debate before another walks into my holiday. At least I was right about all the pain. Righteous inbehaviour, unpleasant bonds to beautiful memories of a life’s dreams gone by. She always had the power to hurt me more than I could alone. Forgiveness which strikes like anguish. Blown down the last frontier; writing myself into a dark corner.

Sent to bed without, my loss was allowed to grow. Waiting, waiting, waiting; god how I hate the waiting. Maybe I’ll interfere unwanted in another conversation, like injecting time into a carton of milk. The thought of foam makes me drool. The oldest cliché in my book; mending a broken heart. Swallowing the venom like bad medicine. Ignored by a world bent on destruction; the lamest game in this busy arena. Blocked by wooden doors of our own design, I don’t think that any key will ever open those rusty locks.

A bird flew past me today and gazed into my weak soul. It had nothing to say, but I noticed a tear fall like rain. Sure it’s sad, it’s supposed to be sad; it’s all about freedom from the bottom of the bucket. Fame and fortune; the two “F” words supposed to bring us satisfaction, but actually only serve to pull the rug out from under those that really want to help. Tell me another lie about how thoughtful you can be as you carefully slip the blade out.

I don’t know what to do. Really. Ever. Pity the best, or ignore the rest? Drawn back into negative designs. Shoot me another slug of the hard stuff. I’ll check my posture in a mannequin’s dream. The doctor exercised no caution when he pronounced the patient fit for surgery. Thinking that they’re special by denouncing any exceptions to their golden rule. Trust is just another word to throw at the betrayal. Putting ourselves in front of fear, the worst nightmare is about to befall everyone involved.

“I’ll teach you to think”; and slam the door shut. Patiently the abandoned infant waits for the end. The alcohol forms a lead ball in the pit of my lungs. If death wasn’t so painful, I’m sure that we’d all live happier lives. Slamming myself down on top of all those useless days wandering hard through someone else’s mistakes in total clarity. The dread no longer scares me, but I shiver at the thought of having to explain it; my mission in life.

Going over the past work, I can see how I was lied to at every turn. My strength became my vulnerability, my vulnerability became me. Sticking my head in the barrel, pulling for anything resembling a trigger. Casting doubt into pools of sharks, their hunger is only magnified; for lack of better words. I have been taught by the devil to believe he exists without us. Stay tuned tomorrow, same time, same choices. Unchallenged, this power sways even the smallest of store fronts. Caution: This product has been dangerous to someone’s health. Passing the buck in exclusive circles.

Skyscrapers of defenses. Waiting for them to come crumbling down; on me.

BEARING BRONZE IN THE OLYMPICS OF TRAGEDY

“It’s not about money” boast the rich while they incinerate angles in chemical factories. Proud in the freedom of everlasting recognition. Crack me again with that most impressive whip.

What came first, the snake or the ladder? Oh baby, I love you now that you’re gone. The rules are forever locked to expose vulgar principles of greed and self abasement. In love with hate, touched by death to discover the beauty of neglect. The dance of strangers brings tears to my clenched eyes.

Bracing myself against crumbling walls. Save the picket fences from atomic blasts. Trying to put a lid on this bottomless supply of rage. Heard only by the dead, they have nothing better to do but listen to my sails flap in the breeze. There’s no more room left for the fluid to move all the nuts and bolts into alignment. Injected into the middle of a free fall.

A double edged ice pick. Constantly in danger of having the pieces fit together before their purpose comes undone once again. A top down explosion of lies and scapegoating. The rescue comes with too many strings attached. The pendulum cuts a swath through all my truths. Centered in the emptiness; the fatigue sets in. The anchor has hooked itself to the continental shelf, and global drift is aligning my attempts for freedom with destruction; until it seems that change can only come through death.

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Legalities

Published by: Pali Productions Inc.http://Pali.Ca

Copyright © 2010 by:Steve GlickmanSteveG@Pali.Ca

Obligations:

Originally published as paperback ISBN# 0-9688658-3-6, 1998.

License notes:

For Patricia Chung... my first fan.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

wuz

FAT

COOL