Cancer Choke and Shamans

Cancer stood and then shouted in every room of my goddamn house. There was no talking him off the ledge, no bargaining for an adult conversation or a quiet discussion of pros and cons: just flax and golden dripping cells that liked to jazz the night away with his headphones on and tantrums ablaze until the thirteenth hour when the elevator seemed stuck and the liquor flows on down the hall and sinks into the carpet, secret requiem and lacrymosa valentines.
Let’s grow toxins and tumors and then build a home here, bring the kids and the grandparents and we will set up horrorshow camps in this darkened space, warped telepathic channels and dissonant esoteric figure heads that just enjoyed the sound of their own babbling voices. The brain was a shuttle bus that was never on time when the earth cancered us all, delivering our bodies to the maker and forever taking me away from my kindred hearts, my nights and mornings forever lost in the fire.
Lust and loss came in the room together holding hands. These two requested to be named together for this number and I can only cater to the faceless ghost that is the language that I have, the words didn’t bother me too much as long as they kept their mouths nailed tight shut like a orchestra conductor on his coffee break.
Incarnate cancer into an embodied angel, I shall wrestle you until the tide comes in and washes the sand off my body and away into the a stream from once I ascended onto this green and bloodied mound, this haunted and landscaped protagonist. Make me sick to my stomach with hallucinations and voices of the dead weights on earth

musing with the lightning bugs that circle the lampposts in the summer. I miss the thicket talkings with the slimy banks and muddied river as it descends into darker waters and the ice hungers to be birthed to the surface again, the distant embryo making lovers sense they are not alone in a war that will tear them and then wear them as protective gear for the undercover insurgents.

My limbs then quake from the turbulence of the storm clouds colliding, the mannequin masked faces tied to strings from heaven seemed to cry and then lapse into an iconic moment of memory loss and seizures that erupt on the planes and folds in my brother’s head. I wanted to shave off my years of living to let you have a few more moments of life time. Blood knocks hard on my brain when you lay up at night, staring at the swirling ceiling that does not forgive easy.

Cancer chokes me with my sleeping hours- mixing in time with the seconds in which my eyes are open to the dreams of my fellow fornicators and fundamentals. Coursing thunder skies above lead me to ponder the death of my sweet sanity and all of her friends lovers over the years of the monkey.

Die fiercely and forever, epitaphs that never encompassed the essence of a broad or narrow idea of a being, mostly a gloved hand holds your own as you watch the casket set into the ground. Time carries us away but does not make things easier than baking bread like my mother

used to do when I was young and confused as I am now and indeed living on lighter fluid and harsh harmonies that drown out the lead actors (causing quite an angry weatherman to predict hazardous conditions in all of the nation-states and decimal caves of the coughing underworld).

An appetite for shamans and pencil lead was not uncommon in this part of my basement, thus I let you have your way for just this once. I will die to resurrect you, the phoenix takes the fall and will not bother to ask you if you mind or what you want or where to meet once all this filthy Freud

century is over. Choice was as variant as the music that wines and dines the base of your neck, your bones weakening to temptation with the night as it is in the flesh, and tourniquet trains slid through the brains of the cancer patients yet to be discovered, yet to be shuddered and sensed out of their minds- alone with me- we shall rock and sit and talk about our next frame of reflection, the light of a candle, the end of a lovely afternoon, and the words of dying men.


  1. Intense.
    So intense it helped me tap into how I feel about all of this, as well. Keep doing what you are doing: exorcising, channeling, penetrating. You are doing what your energy was designed to do. Get it.

  2. I think you said exactly what you needed to.