Sirens,
the blues and bass,
cigarettes,
espresso shots,
drinking tequila
in the shower,
in the morning,
were all telltale
signs of the apocalypse,
that enjoyed teasing us,
with the weather
and paranoia.
Skulls dancing
on skulls,
the poisoned bite
festers until
I suck it out,
skin and burning,
pleasured open mouths,
holy sacraments,
yummy fucks,
witches and their cocktails,
long showers
with the water so hot
it melted the pain
right away,
with the tears,
and the tortured angels,
their wings,
clipped short and scattered
to the four corners
of the grounded earth,
to avoid their own
awakenings into
lovely sculptures
of vast divinity,
that wrapped its legs
around me,
sunk in deep,
to the notion of motion,
rising up and out
of the quagmire,
labyrinthed illuminati
thunderings
from the cement
above us,
that had almost been forgotten,
except for it shook
the rafters
of even the stock marketeers
and the banks
of the green piglets
and the running bulls of
violence
begetting
violence,
aggression spat out
at each other
like acid rain.
Enough of those
hollow egos
teething golden udders
that collapsed the
world around them,
pandemics and
mayhem,
injections and
rabid inscriptions
on brains,
that drove us all mad
and fucking yes,
into that brilliant
ecstasy of the ocean.
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