the thunder clasps
my nerves wreckoned
with trepidation and constipation
apathy and stagnation
consign
to resignation
into design is a suicice nation
on prozac & xanax & if yer lucky
oxycodeine
tired and weary & dried and leary
forgotten & left for dead
floating alone on a big fat bed

wood into temple
metal to shrine
to hear of lost souls
the worst is the mothers who whine

a knife has gone through my nasal cavity
it reached my stomach emptied
but missed my heart
it pierced placenta
left from long ago
who knew it was
left with nothing to do but be
a statue of for gone
long gone i have no
libido
i have no insignia
no medallion
the thump is pilfered
into the wall
i have moved from the volcano
to the foot of the mountain
trees are charred
rocks are scarred
all is desolate
&
i crash into the cave
into the forest & divide into many
routes & balconies
frozen bricks
molten brush
the birds wallow
in the chirp of sanctuary

my window is no longer glass

into is to becoming in blasts

in blasts i will
soon move to new mexico
& the desert plain shall be my igloo

the hypochondriatic nature
of alcohol
keeps you in stateless supremacy
go to the edgeless caravan
of the domicile
rural areas
of the tepee
& when you come back
you'll be exponantially reconciliated
more than you ever could be

then you become
intuitive
then you become
organic
then you become
one
then you become
one
with death
and then it all
begins
when you think its the beginning
its just the end
but you'll never know until you
hold a gun to your head

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