Burroughsian-Ish

It's these times the brainwaves' brimming But there's no cored means to articulate Hooked at a slant of transcendence Staring down fat glimpses of life lived through death It clots red-black, thick in the dropper Junky blood comes and it goes The eye of the spike, the swell of elation Death peals, heart drags, blow outs Headglows Don't patronize me With your long, lean laughs Stretched skin, smoothed skin Droning wisps of sour-smelt breath No-teethed, gumless, bone-grinding Skeletal rasps What exactly is it that… Makes you any better than… The junky in the gutter groove We all have our button up, fasten, tie-in, fix Some just subsist in it, with it Live it to exist in it It's high time the wavelengths blurred