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
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