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Poem

The trackmarked pain on the televisions face raining out and cocooning his grave was not a
very good advertisement for reincarnation Wake up at last near the worlds end crescent in
fetal shape symptomatic riding electric spasms of rampantly distasteful nervous system
Insolent huge anxious insect squirming monster specimen hid in a safe watchful eyes
blinded by heaven next to me was vending machine annihilation Cartwheel of half eaten hint
of red tapeworm breathing concrete pages of dreary neon lighted soul suffocating streets
filed to a pulp Beer drinking benders on Saturday mornings no concept of time vibrations
running spit on floor of reality Psychological moral and artistic problems suicide gallows
with teeth in a grotesque nightmare interlude of cellular panic Your old and valued friend
of detrimental poetic tendency has defected there is no treatment - is it wrong to make
the patient as comfortable as possible? You should have seen a glass of whiskey slaying
Goliath on a respirator superior yet terrified the frivolity felt more lubricated then
usual (mixing another scotch stroking his brain) now that the music has faded I will sleep
until the end of time in a porcelain bathtub Capillary incision catalyzes tongues of a
flare ten shades of green that flings ignited subject exploding into space “Come on out
old troll, let us put daisies in your hair” Sanctuary in the embalming to emaciate the
wings Do angels ever cut themselves shaving?

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