Eyes of the Viper

What a strange

set of chaotic carousal

events

that tilted our earth

slightly different,

woke up in quite a fright,

storms and

witches brews are

a-comin with

the moontides

that were so strong

it seemed all the ladies

and lads

felt the pull of

her gravity,

even more heavy

than twas average,

heads slouched

down and over

by the weight.

And I suppose,

with directness,

hilarious candor,

I spat back bitch at you,

fool,

the stereotypes that I

felt so chained by,

oh so many boxes to put me in,

so little seconds passing,

as if someone was

filling half my lungs

up with

dirty bath water,

the hypocrites,

us all,

hating on quick fogged “instinct”,

you might’ve called it,

“sentence first,

verdict after,”

screams the

wrathful queen of hearts,

and don’t you

just and even

remember yesterday?

I do.

Time did blend

and sneak together

the weekdays n turnings

to nasty weekends,

oh honey,

I don’t think you even

realize your

yummy teeth

are showing,

madness was my speciality,

so twas a

bizarre pleasure,

in a wicked way,

a rush of blood,

senses taking me

outside my body,

hovering round ya

to the right,

waltzing round ya

to the left,

kundalini and magic

of the ancients,

whose names

I remembered in

my sleep

and sang to them

amidst round tables and checkmates,

luscious naked twists and turns,

my juicy curves

mouthing out,

words in old languages

most had forgotten

with the distraction of the

cement age.

I kept my face

close to the ground,

lips open and heavy breathing,

learned earth tones and

rhetorics of insanities

and viper voodoo,

feeling less human today

than other days,

so sorry bout that,

as if my soul

cradled itself with

weeping willows,

under the dirt

breathing,

sinking down

in the rain water,

breathing fire in

the mornings

to awaken the sun. 

Prayer, i suppose (wrote 4/16)

Oh Universe Elements,

help us all

slither through

the summer

somehow surviving.

I Pray

with my learned languages,

sacred seascapes,

and perhaps

driving down

long lovely lonely

roads,

in the nighttime.

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.