“in days of heat
sticky, sweaty
a carcass living
casually weeps
in the shadow
no ordinary tears
but tears of blood
the tacky wet
red, moist
as the ripping
waves pulse
like a blow dryer
an antagonistic sun
the hairy face matted
the guilt, the rage
hot issues all well
spent with no
mention of rot or
decay featured now
a carcass dying
in days of heat…”
the world warps around the continuous consciousness that grows…
emitting a signal that replenishes the dynamic of energy that gets drained
as the cosmic joke funnels our souls into this chaotic state of matter…
we wash ourselves with the pity and sorrow and laughter
inherent in the suffering of succotash…
the diabolic parabola, the learning curve where the junk collects,
whether at the bottom or in the middle of the air…
the objective? the collective? a struggle…
we were meant to juggle our reality by the thread of a yo-yo,
and by then the merry jester tugs back upon our dreams…
like a simple-minded fisherman reeling in the catch…
the imagination gets a fierce degree of gravity from the inner child,
bearing the bubble back to the ground, but quickly caught off-guard
by the up-thrust of windy retreats…
where is the imagination left now?…
gliding off into gilded realms unknown…
the karmic …
doobie. where is it at? my cherished instrumental tool. where is it at? do i need to describe with discretion at the will of forces truly unknown to me. the override switch was hit by the self it takes a mirror to see. the rhythmic feeling of a hankering to wail out something of passionate display, a face for the world to behold, and for all subtlety necessary in day-to-day events. a movement, no… motion, that displays its mechanics. where is it at? that thing that chimes in harmony with my tastes. vibrating with an essence that tastes like motor oil. an extract from the soil and mineral below the feet. where is it at? the substantial something.
It is a place, the depth of which you cannot find…
Permit me to choose the path, that I may find a way through…
But it is Here, when all the proper understanding is reached…
Neither Heaven nor Hell, but place between worlds…
Open your mind, infinite consciousness…
Find the role, and play it…
This is the creed…
CMK ~
sweat pours through the blood-strewn dance floor as the streets grow grim with fears. breaks are for those who can’t take the heat of the black light specials being passed around. the height of unfounded abandon in the Western world’s culture of self-gratification.