If you are reading this,
you are standing still,
staring at the fridge.
Stop it!
Do something else
with your life.

If the sun could speak,
what would she say?
"I am the sun,
the sun sunny sun."

the painter
breathes gold,
her clock ticks
with eternal seconds,
her life
is her art,
and it grows
as she withers

…And back to the earth’s supply of turtle shirts-
how vast is it, really?
And do the turtle teeth gnash to the moon?
With a floral aferdavid merkel blonde adult placebo
pets of frontrunners are ravaged?
All pain is piano-learner temporary,
simultaneously-felt lover with curly joy
in some hair-atenko fader vacuous alternate universe.

You fluid druids of the mind,
a billion pigeons roosting on one leg in the hollow frost,
I’ll teach them to play piano with the other,
blow like a leaf in the wind,
flap like a leak in time,
Can we somehow be beautiful and still human?,
smell of the backwards line
and soaps and stuff
and grind the grind
and find the halt
and be torn amuck with love?
be reborn with light baby hearts
and doves on fingertips
with mushy stew on your tongue
and baked cheese in the wild weeping thump?
Can finger be dove-trigger?

Honey, be a honey bee
tiger a tiger
Be a brother and splash wine on one another,
lock up your hardness and leave home naked,
Child, just be a soft tumor on my face as I swim,
Be nothing in mind of you
and anything in mind of others,
Be mighty Fargas and lager of love
with a half-moon face
Be him and her around a fire
with cheeks of shaved aloe
and splendid pores dotting your grim
ill image of single mole
like tiny looped leer seared planet melting in the sun,

You’ll learn of Old Man Death
with cold gray eyes circling your head
and he’ll be mighty bored
in future Schools of Soft
where they’ll wander your maze of many eyes,
microscope your hair for clues,
climb your tree and throw showers of treats to the elderly…
You wanted to be the sea,
a vast expanse,
you are the void,
now be.

Dressed for murder over the wheezing trapeze,
a crowd of seagulls all standing sheepish,
caught in webs of hate,
mulling and doing nothing really,
snared by spider fangs dripping with love,
malting and blending in his belly,
oh what a feast is hateful body, thin air and torpedo blood for
joint-legged spirit of love

like furry octopus-chef she stands and scrambles,
preparing an expansive meal of string lost and lonely,
with exotic spices in tender caves,
and pregnant meats,
all to be completely devoured and enjoyed by dreadful waterfalls of
legless faceless beards singing lullabies in the crazy wind

and all the hateful spices that pepper your soul
are in fact delicious fodder waiting to be switch-flicked,
water to the unseen seed of love hiding in the brain-barn’s barnacle blackness,
hiding in the book’s pages,
the human heart,
concealed within a sight, sound, tree, animal, gentle word, embrace, idea,
within a single dangling schwinging bare bulb holding its breath,
waiting to be switch-flicked,
waiting patiently until you are ready to see,
until your heart-roast is tender,
mind-hinge oiled,
soul-fruit ripe and ready to be deliciously chomped,
annihilated,
to see, feel, explode and love, amen.

If not creating
why exist?

I'm merely a sponge
only good for absorbing
and being self-wrung

I awake
see the sun shine
hear the dew giggle

I'm dead
A camel finally
ate my head

Eat a sausage.
Or two. Bwoo.
Eat a toosen.
Eat an antelope.
Ride a cantaloupe.
Baffle anchovies.
Biffle oon faffle! Coughle.......

Extractimus dans belt on your head.
C'mon, don't be dead.
Hullo! Wicked smile why for stay awhile?
With an itchy mole on your chin?
A nose?
Miffenraph sin.
Extractinonimous amen!

Lee bracka pop intackens. Fullyackenstrom hit me ah! Feel me arm bee. Me black be me belly. Duck collage. Drippy knee your sharp shark and happy little men emerge all wet from savory roast beef tubes for dry cannot be savory but hairy roast beef must heap insults on its own brain.

Go shave!
Go live in a cave.
Go be nobody.
Go be magnificent and small.
Go be a fart in the wind.
Go be a pair of eyes and hand to grasp pen.
Go now.
Go waterfall draw peacock cheese and atcheroo!
Walk around with your hatchet and bang your knees.
Be you.
Be nothing.
Stand tall or smooth flat, whatever you want!
Heaven is here in this constant beeping noise.
The mush in stuff and voices, distilled, simplify and listen, use one sense at a time plus feeling, one sense plus feeling equals empathy and god is a sound smell taste or vision felt deeply.
Wobben oberto, oh to be a babe, a sleeping babe, calm, to be in flight, to be the Light, to be music, a note, two notes, to be a chord, oh that's the thing to be, a single rising falling ringing chord, three peaceful notes?

Tortured and tormented, you, I gush, ah I'm nothing! with wants and needs.
I look and see and now, after you, my vision is spoiled, soiled, rotten, bunk, elfrasko! lotten! profhelder shut up!
I cant stand the seeing of mine eyes, now, after you, ruined!
What happened to your sleeve?
My tongue?
Ah smack this larsenal,
this thick tender smoke,
I imagine you in every place and it's beautiful,
nothing is real,
you're not real,
you run away,
a steel bar, bird soup, stop!
No more moving, no moving, just stay still and slowly rot away,
no more vision, please!
Ugly, smut, I want to walk down leaf-blown lanes, to speak, to reach, to move, to know, to do and live, stop it all, please, I only want to sleep, sleep, sleep.

Where are you going?

The green morning is yellow and blue.
The clouds are burping white banjo blues.
It can be joyful.
As I fly my bike
I feel the wind
gently whisper on every statue of hair
as a man in Guatemala eats an apple
(there's a worm in it but he doesn't care).

Everywhere I go a dark train follows me,
casts its shadow on my spark,
a boy watches me out the window,
occasionally picking his nose with skinny finger.
Same finger he uses to play violin.
His mother hears the notes softly floating
through the window as she waters her garden.
Sometimes she accompanies on the harp in the tree.
When the harp falls over it turns into the sea.
The sky is wide open.
There's a kite in it.

I just want to
hug you but.....
you're golden

No one is innocent,
therefore we are all innocent.
We are all guilty,
therefore no one is guilty.

Babbletroff,
do I walk among the
shrapnel and quack
about astronauts?

Is the sub-lemon
blossom of Keyrooack
bloomening in my
nary thoughts?

Is France a good
vacation spot for
malfunctioned robots?
For cemetery romance?

Cosmologically,
the three breezes
meow like lonely kittens
between your lips.

The flubbletroffs
hacking and hankerin'
all kinds of hadjmind
o'er my hearkened heart.

My inner shuttle
shattered many
long and sorrowful
moons ago.

I rode on top
of that book
for so long it became
a soaring stallion,

soared so high my six thumbs froze,
broke off and gently fluttered
through the pages into
your ketchup-filled coffee cup

The best sentence I ever wrote:
"Jwockney flopney flockalot gurgle."
Everything is upside down.
Don't forget that.

There is a golden moth
in the bathroom
with dimples

Oh preffey furry purry shake-tailed faultless globe-eyed cats,
wonders, neon, claws desperate climbing my leg,
you prickle me with gentle affection,
I empathize with your rollercoaster love,
you fickle phantoms appearing and disappearing,
unknowing nature lovers,
fur lickers,
bird chasers,
curiosity catonified,
explorers,
cheek rubbers,
so sweet and upright,
downright justified in every frazzled act of instinct from cat-brained cat brain,

you fearless scavengers,
horse-minglers,
sun-wrigglers,
relaxed stretching gymnasts,
meowing hymnists,
dog-like felines,
best friends,
insane cousins,
hand lickers,
shin ticklers,
butterfly chasers,
nonchalant psychic mindreaders,
acrobatic jumpers and leapers,
chronic night-meowers,
spoiled whiners,
picky gorging diners,
rotating satellite-eared listeners,
silent mouse-assassins,
tuna-obsessed greedy beggars,
soft-hearted attention lovers,
stinky-breathed whisker-nosed expert curler-uppers,

sun-seekers,
tail-chasers,
grass-munchers,
catnip junkies,
deep sleepers,
cardboard box dwellers,
wide-eyed nocturnal dreamers,
milk-lappers,
sun-patch carpet-nappers,
tentative willing wise lovers of patient scratching fingers,
nomadic horn-cats,
perfect flexible furry balls of unpredictable invention,
rub,
soft,
hand,
smile,
happy,
still,
eyes,
circling,
writhing,
grass dancers,
moving object-pouncers,
paw patters,
tiny sneezers,
vicious bell-attackers,
noble warriors,
10-meter sprinters,
world-class furniture slalomers,
quiet piano connoisseurs,
trumpet-cringers,
princely double-decade livers,
human-scoffers,
skeptics,
outcasts,
rebels,
empty-headed philosophers,
unabashed naked walkers,
fancy strutters,
sideways hoppers,
fur bristlers,
blanket snugglers,
barn dwellers,
joy givers,
mitten wearers,
patterned black holes of energy,
glass smudgers,
window peerers,
sidewalk strollers,
sudden street-crossers,
fence-climbers,
sweet approachers,
tip-toed head-pet-receivers,
attention seekers and ignorers,
unconscious brothers and sisters,
torso-contorters,
babies,
screen-scalers,
spine stretchers,
fur shedders,
piss clumpers,
chest warmers,
early alarm clocks,
couch cushion-covers,
water lappers,
fly swatters,
livers,
lovers,
liars,
diers,
God's gift to man's happy,
furry,
fuzzy,
funny,
warm,
mystery,
Cats.

This is Tyler.
Tyler has a pet monkey that only dances to tango music.
Tyler is more generous than a cat
but less enlightened than a giraffe.
What does a giraffe do but stand around and relax?
Giraffes have the right idea.
Just relax, guy!

Just be a giraffe,
grow your neck out and eat some apples,
eat some kiwi for all I care,
as long as you have a long neck and spots on your skin,
you and my grandma will get along perfectly.

Be like Tyler.
Look at him scratch his head like a prehistoric fish.
If Tyler was the last man alive he would
repopulate the earth with tiny replicas of Elvis Presley's elbow.
He would hold a balloon.
He would compliment trees and taste the number six.
He would wear eyeshadow and flap his wings to keep the fire going.
He would stand perfectly still in the middle of a forest and
sing the most heart-wrenching opera music while the clouds clapped their hands,
and the lady's hair parted to reveal Jesus Christ himself,
still alive and joining in when the chorus hits the highest note.

The tall tower grows horizontally from the chipmunk's ear,
and the whole universe is unveiled in the girl's smile,
which after all is just a bunch of teeth shining slightly off-white
through a permanently inside-out pair of lips.
And all of this happens while Tyler keeps singing and singing,
belting out his opera music until his voice turns to dust,
until his eyes spurt blood,
until his heart grows roots in the soft fertile ground,
until ten years pass,
until the sun grows toenails and gets a carwash,
until the cat gets sick of all the chin-scratching and writes a book,
until all the humans are reborn without eyesight and they really start to see,
until Tyler banishes all the reborn humans to wide green fields full of dogs of all sorts, golden or otherwise,
until the leaves finally open their mouths and speak,
"Stop. It's too much. Please. I can't take it any more.
Stop.
Stop it," they say.
"We cannot.
We must not.
We must not describe the panic of being alive.
Of trembling.
Of feeling too much as the wind does gust."
And isn't that what we are after all?
A cool joyful wind blowing through the leaves.
A soundwave.
A tornado.
A scream as loud as a whisper.
(Dexter, look what you made me write)
All sitting in Tyler's living room
as he stares us in the eye
and repeats a single word over and over
and over and over
and over and over
and over and over
and over and over
and over and over.
"Life."

Is this the place for insane clarity?
Is this where I let my pet duck sing?
Is this the way to the top of the tree?
Is this where I trade garbage for gold?
Is this where I purchase joy, a new liver, and eight more years of life?
Is this where all the left-over vowels go to die?
Is this where the jagged rocks are tossed?
Is this where we splash and laugh?
Is this where I stand on a big round rock and hug the sky?
Is this the end of darkness?
Is this the height of being alive?
Is this the right brand of desire?
Is this the point on the horizon where everything converges?

We all wonder why.
Now the reasons are clear.
We all want the same things.
That is, food, sex and eternal happiness.
All attainable goals.
How?
Move your feet, open your eyes and spread your arms wide.

My hands are scratched with tough cat love,
full of rope burn worse than someone with dirty fingernails poking you in the eye.
A million faces in my mind with no names to go with them.
I need that Spanish girl back,
shrink her down and put her in my pocket,
she pokes her head out at the Mexican border
and talks in a funny language to the well-proportioned man with the real mustache.
His mustache twitches when he pronounces the letter H.
She smiles too much and I push her head back down into my pocket.

The only acts that I consider strange
are those that people have reasons for.
Anything that is done for no reason
is not strange to me.
When things are done for no reason,
then any action is valid, as justified as any other.

I am brought back again to this quote by Merleau-Ponty:
"The highest form of reason borders on unreason."

To break a bar of soap in half.
To talk to an ant.
To rub lotion on your knees.
To light a grapefruit on fire.
To fart into a fishbowl.
To trade socks with a stranger.
To trade underwear with a friend.
To rub a banana peel on your stomach.
To slither like a snake down the sidewalk.
To fill your bellybutton with sawdust.
To stand on your head at a wedding.
To compliment trees.
To glue a potato to a wall.
None of these things are strange.

I cannot
be held
responsible
for dumping out
flowerpots
to check
the soil for
suffocating ants

The path went around the boatyard,
but I walked right through the middle,
jumped up on the boats,
lounged in their cabins,
tested out their bunks,
sang songs from their upper decks.

People say take this path or that path,
but I say take no path,
there is no path,
avoid all visible paths,
venture through the tall grass
left lonely and untouched,
reach out to that pristine glistening
corner of life where
solitude melts into love.

First I go to Iceland,
next I go somewhere I can stay for free and work,
if no such place exists,
I go somewhere warm
with boats and water
and people who like to dance,
and I search for their poets
until I find them
wandering through the boatyard.

sit on their cherry-coloured thrones,
they chew off all my skin,
they lick me to my bones

The ear-tongue twist-up
lifts up six cups of fresh love
while the Benjamins fall
by the wayside like dead pups

In the forest
I pick up the call
of a faraway bird
and follow it until I find it

I am reborn
Yes! Today I am born anew
I can be surprised again,
Reborn! Rebirth!

I kiss the young buds of trees,
I touch the rough bark and I shiver.
In the ripples of the river
I see the face of an old friend
over and over again

Every way I turn
I see an old friend,
old friend,
old friend,
old friend

Hello pebble, old friend
hello chipmunk, old friend
hello flower, old friend
hello spider, old friend
hello sunshine, old friend
hello deer, old friend
we are all reborn together,
so good to see you again

two-armed jet-crane plane-game,
crazy insane in the brain,
training tigers to eat calamari
fashionably and with charisma

one two three four
five six seven eight,
hair on the gasoline-puddles,
laughter joyous and true!

silent savage-spark in the girl's short heart,
teasing depressing dance-farts,
chin-jut dirty smut, clean-strip chicken-clit,
jeans pulled tight tight tight in the shadows of the night

pigeon-song lap-dance wolf-howl,
no recollection of haircut other than
morning-waking jacket-stealing,
self-prescribed pancakes

I FEEL LIKE THE SNARE WITHOUT HER FIX!
a flux of trip-dicks
drip-drop marbles,
drink-flooded flight-packet,
slapful serenade of duck-feet on pavement,
punch-track toes facing forward,
flow flow flowing into grass-water,
impossible reflections on green tape,
squirrel-rape!
DO YOU AS FOR BETTER BUT NOT TRUMPET?

clap the universe on loud,
dark clouds backlit with departing sun,
funny bums, repeated nuns,
arming rum with newfound chums,
gum-drum gift-guy lift-cry

drop-blap on fly-gap,
electrical cookie currents,
dark eyes on heaven's thighs,
fresh-bump cloud-clumps,
stumpy God-glare hare-stares,
round-gap ground-hatch,
stuff-puff rolled up in knapsack lung-backs

math class booty-smack,
pearl-scream sinister spin,
endless creamy mountains
floating on the bottom of nothing

cloud-compensating lakes,
window-forest glide-cats,
spirit-mirror slat-traps,
crap-headed balding doormat,
flap wings and things in surprise boxes,
STILL SWIRLING BACK THROUGH THE STAIRWAY

never-floated flotation devices (we are),
tomboy blue-eyed goat-girl,
dissatisfied monkey-smile,
mmm girl I eat your pearls,
your long limp leggy legs,
spreading in the leaky tight-tongued training-tower

the joff-man bakes the waffle-pan
of tinkering twat-feel gut-checks,
Johnny's tender ink-chest,
floppy ocean moon-breast,
soggy smacking treadmill butt-flaps,
smiling robot-roadmap,
struggle-slug fleshy foot-hats,
these are illuminated sky-thoughts,
try-hard lip-toss,
jean-short booty-boot booty dance

bless you Graham
for your sexy-kneed strange sneeze,
your open-eyed grass-wheeze,
your head-neck trance of schoolboy breakdance,
your whiskey-toss smooth burn,
your nappy salty blanket farting deep into the distance,
your shaky-calm birdseed karate-drop

you awake to the misplaced paintings,
you embrace the bathtub ironing-board,
you turn on the glow in your eyeballs
and make the horizon inappropriate

Swedish cat
hair so bright
Swedish cat
come in from the night
Swedish cat
I love you so
Swedish cat
when you bite my toe

Naked monkeys in the morn
Powerful monkeys at noon
Naked monkeys in the eve

When you blushed
I could not believe my eyes.
You invented
on your cheeks
a new beautiful shade of pinkish-red.

To capture that colour in paint
and apply it to all the busts in the world…
Men keeling over and fainting
on marble art gallery floors...

The lynch-handed star-nut
spits garlic dreams
on saffron honey-dice,
sucks the sugary syrup
right from the moon’s diamond tooth.
Oh, vermouth,
purple on a spoon-dune,
trick tropolop,
take two, the night is young!,
basically a humdrum phenomenon,
abortion on the lawn,
the neighbors yawn,
sad eyes of Swedish appendages,
dragoon scales and gales
back in a baby ding to,
fresh tomorrow
we were there once crying,
larger and larger
until all the buffaloes
tumble down the stairs
and tuck the wind into bed.

Tiger liger fiber,
bitter pet monkey.
Release the parrots,
the fox-eaters loud or small.
Too small to talk over the same place.

Boowap ear-chewer,
job-awry,
drive her eyes,
woozy chin.
Fix it bird,
twirl back through the stairway.

Irregular butterfly,
shaped all wrong alright.
Torso-roller,
I stomach.
Ankle toast.
Do you as for better but not trumpet?
The burning sky offends your sensibilities.

Swollen apples,
Italian toejam,
very delicate indeed.
Break, repair, refrigerate, and so on.

Tom’s arrow,
Tim’s sorrow,
“To more oats!”
Thom wears loafers,
oafs row the boat,
Todd raises goats,
fwip fwap, tomorrow.
Blink Jack.
Tomato?
Floppy fly-berry dogbody.
Detached, invisible, unpredictable,
a new kind of presence: cat-presence.
Struggle-shrug shrinking,
gallbladder-grass growing,
rib-lips cooked to a rare love-smile.
Mammals, stop searching!
Time’s purpose: to give us time to enjoy our time.

Brasstone peat moss,
chimney me gently.
Chimney him conscious,
more vinegar in the gutter.
No chimney her but soup.

Cavities blaze,
wheeze,
shine fierce yellow,
fade,
narrowly nebustive,
not a holy black,
but perhaps a pink-owl shadow-scowl,
negatively negative joy,
heavenly heaven hell,
genuinely genuine lie,
falsely false truth,
all whales hail the ha ha he.
Even the tallest mice are terrified of rice.

Cogent patio-pilfering.
Spunky liver, brother butter.
Pepper-soap cheese-cushion.

Something wrong?
Rotten moonfish, yea.
Moonfish tastes best fresh,
pan-seared,
lemon from Mars,
garlic from the craters of Jupiter,
juice from the honeydew baking at the centre of the Earth,
waiting to be loved.

Wake up,
shave your forehead,
c’mon, starch your rheumatic pantaloons,
watch out for disheveled lazy-legged imps hiding lung-diseased candy in your cereal,
running away with your doormat,
planting spindly spineless sausage-songs in your sock drawer,
high skinny,
low fat,
drink down your heart-felt fake Santa Claus,
nice shiny forehead now,
we fly faster now,
less wind resistance now,
shiny foreheads only in the fast lane please,
five years behind bars for fake plastic foreheads,
you’ll never get ahead hiding behind the inside-out sauerkraut.

You mind being my muse for the latch poppa?
My four letter word called mommy?
My mustache on a hat tossed in gravy,
all the wickets falling down,
drowning in desire for the wicket-hat whomp,
wicket-pillow whoosh,
stuffed inside the crowded molar icecubes,
frantically melting electric Haitian yogurt,
cerebral state of emergency,
her mouth watering at the thought of sharp pencils and dull eyes void of the awareness of ingrown toenails,
shwinging tangy beachtoads,
yodeling headless chipmunks,
freakish pudgy supermodels carelessly hanging eons on universal silent mountains,
peaks tumbling eternally upwards,
slow-motion racial transformations of genus Second Cousinus,
twin sister rivers splashing loudly into swelling smiling shouting streams,
stroking the single never-seen stone,
branches slapping birds’ wings,
urging squirrels to fly regardless of wing-status.

Sweet under-body,
church aisle booty-shake,
onion-eyed Larry extends a bony finger through the sky up into the inky center of your octopus heart,
love at first touch,
clouds as clear as cloudy water,
infrared bellybutton,
torso-flute,
misunderstood beltbuckle,
multiplying vowels expanding to suck your lips through the eye of a needle,
plip plop,
leave your possessions in the future,
bow-legged bowels running crooked,
too weak and metallic,
shoulders soft and brittle,
bones held together by string,
grandmother came back as a chicken,
not to be eaten,
don’t chop off grandma’s head,
always be kind to the ghost,
generous with food,
drink,
paint,
starch,
never hesitate to donate a pair of Spanish hair-medallions,
do unto your toothbrush…

Underground cathode-tube rays,
post-mortem exultation,
eat your soup with a hockey stick big boy,
don’t slurp too loud and wake up the fish,
last thing we need is angry fish meowing and mooing all night,
stingray mammogram,
candle up your nose,
green magma flowing down like a sour pea mudslide.
Cold britches britching,
bitches bitching,
leeches leeching,
lurchers lurching,
teary-eyed visions of the apocalypse,
loitering bloodthirsty snails,
sickly canines struggling to form an ivory revolver on the wall,
children sneezing wisdom into the toilet,
longing to be born upside-down.
Bethany! Bethany! Bethany’s here!
Matt, c’mon, learn!
Bethany’s got her learnin’!
Bethany’s here, I swear to God!
C’mon, do your learnin’.
Matt! Bethany’s here!
Bethany!

Bird-practitioner,
doctor-Eskimo,
Bethany calls the birds down from the clouds.
Tumble through your head,
rumble till’ you’re dead,
warm milk,
kind mailbox,
bold heart,
young mind,
rusty eyes,
sweet hands,
hot toes,
tricky legs,
average elbows,
real conversation,
watching from our jetpack sky-seat strawberry dogsled
as shrunken left-handed flamingos feast upon fresh golden jellybeans,
ripe and in season,
unbounded we fly.
Open up,
let your buzzsaw baby soar among the fishy-eyed statues.
By the time I get there I could be anyone.

All I want
is to marry a girl
in a black sweater.

The day I marry a girl
in a fuschia sweater
or a turquoise sweater
is the day I’ll know
I’ve lost my mind

I will be great,
because what other option is there?
By “greatness” I mean
being exactly who you want to be,
and I want to be
a person whose mind is
continually blossoming with poetry,
who can look at anything
and think beautiful thoughts about it.

The ultimate creative act is to
cultivate in yourself an autonomous mind-
a mind that observes things
through an imaginative eye
and organizes things
in an automatic and unique manner.
But how do you cultivate this kind of mind?
First, by never ever breaking awareness,
by never giving up on caring about
or paying attention to
your immediate surroundings

A framed picture
of a man framing a picture of himself
holding a hammer
and trying to smash out of the frame,
but he cannot,
for he is trapped inside the picture
that was framed by the picture of himself.
The point is this:
None of it is real,
therefore there is nothing for him to smash out of.

Rat in a mouse cage,
poop in your palm,
fireplace-mouthhole,
keep your chin woozy,
always in the ‘on’ position,
nothing but notions of blood for breakfast,
buttoned-down fetus torsos
flailing in the wind,
suspicions of small scars simpering
on simple functional knuckles,

bar-grasping tar-pavers
sucking oxygen from millions of past lives
all sickeningly congealed into the future,
reality so overwhelmingly large, colourful and worth living,
rushing by,
there’s only time to eat a slice of pie if you set the day aside and cry a little,
beg the boss for some time to lick the sugar off your crumby fingers,
get lost in the jungle,
wear the pelts of twelve smelly furry lions,
meet a girl named Jasmin in a dovehouse,
she sings a wonderful song,

landscape fading,
spiraling down away into a thick backward forest,
a plum stuck so far up your bum it sits perched sweet upon your tongue,
lung-puncturing fun,
a universal pact with cats to scratch their chins indefinitely
in exchange for heart-warmth,
bouncing up the stairs proclaiming “life, life, life,” with every step,
this is how to live my friend,
a frantic loving spongy mind,
so perfect and put together,
like a picture from a magazine,
a tight smooth outfit,
that’s my idea of Satan,
of lifeless waste worse than garbage,
look at me with my yellow floppy hair,
I love yellow hair but it could use a dash of black,
another picture-perfect pass,
fine legs but no tongue,

everything is worth looking at,
stare at man,
hold his gaze and don’t look away,
see if you sparkle or burst into flames,
smash your head through the window
over and over and over again,
infinite satisfaction,
follow your gut,
fall horizontally at breakneck speeds,
never say please,
put adults where they belong- in cages,
the stunning realization that we’re a society full of failed parents,
“sit up,
wipe your face,
blow your nose,
say thank you,
stay close to mommy,
no no no,
don’t do that,
it’s dangerous,
it’s disgusting,
don’t eat that,
that’s daddy’s cracker.”

The man with gum on his teeth is the funniest thing,
be the mother of all fear,
until you talk to someone,
then be the mother on the couch smiling sad,
exuberantly mad,
gotta act on the hydrogen-energy
shooting bananas directly to your limbs,
can’t talk of anything without 14 smirking orange lips flinging forth endlessly (one out of the other),
multitudinous visions multiplying like rabbits before your eyes,
visions, real visions, hallucinations,
madness at mid-day,
a 7-ring circus in the forest,
diving down into ever-morphing black holes,
and after a long series of tunnels through rivers and galaxies,
returning to daylight through two gaping hairy vaginas joined into one.

Am I mad?
Yes, in the steaming sense of the word.
I’m mad mad mad at life for thrusting itself so relentlessly upon me,
mad mad mad that someday it all has to end,
mad mad mad about kindness,
about strife,
I’m mad about your wife,
mad about madness,
mad enough to smash my head through a window at any time of day and laugh about it,
mad about those two little girls standing completely still in the middle of the field,
I’m mad enough to be glad, sometimes,
mad enough to wear any type of hat,
mad enough to love a woman with little bits of black pepper in her teeth,
I’ll pick ‘em out or lick ‘em out and keep ‘em in a jar labeled “Black Bits of Love from the Teeth of a Woman I Just Met,”
I’m mad enough to pet a sleeping stranger’s head,
to poke holes in a hobo’s clothes,
to steal a baby’s nose,
I’m mad about the start and end,
mad about every single second,
whether it’s wasted or used wisely it doesn’t really matter,
I’m mad about the regular things people say to you, like “Have fun!”
“Okay, I will!”
I’m mad about old people and young people, but not really the people in between,
I’m mad about Grace and Compassion and trying to add them to my vocabulary,
I’m mad about Water, Harmony, Fire and Feces,
I’m mad about these self-centered girls who won’t shut up,
a real conversation from last night:
Girl: Blah blah blah blah blah, etc.
Me: Your voice is really annoying.
Girl: Your face is annoying.
Me: At least my face doesn’t make so much noise.
I’m mad about the invisible girl in the hat with honest eyes who just stares and stares and stares,
she floats erect like a levitating giraffe and never says a word.

Float down a cloud
on the rainy humans,
lake stretched like a
loose hammock between
two mountain peaks,
the reflection of heaven
is only visible from heaven

silence the tattooed socks,
the girl's big fat head
stuck in the round vase,
jiggle-whoa whiplash,
we're all being watched, because
we're all watching each other

head-bobbing hair-mob,
blue frog corn cob,
silly thoughts spring from my head
like Medusa's mad serpents
unleashed to spread strange love
to the earth's four corners

my friend Mad Bob says
“open your eyes!
open your useless human eyes!
at least be aware of your own destruction
and not like a fresh corpse
equal to dirt while still wearing skin.
open your eyes!
peel back your heavy lids
sprinkle glass shard streams
until you remember your youth,
slay the slumber!
though it hurts, you must open your eyes!
at least appear to be alive
in hopes that your painted shell will seep inside.
open your eyes!” says Mad Bob,
“open your liver to the elephant-throated ceiling-walkers,
wear mismatched socks for just one day
and see how frightened everyone becomes.”
is this the end?
i'm not sure.
i only hope she moves her hand.

(stream of consciousness experiment- written rapidly in 5 minutes):
sheep lasso,
raven hopscotch raisin,
hoop-loop,
knob-cop,
boy's knees,
pea's pleas,
pray preacher, tease teacher,
clean dungeon keys
lead to the keen dragon sneeze,
face danger,
a lopsided righteous holy man,
a woman-cat,
morph the corpse,
learn to sin,
sin much too much,
cut enough muff to mutter blood,
cut the gut-shudder in the clatter-barn,
spit batter on the jacket-ladder,
tattered tail in the mail,
a pale-whale wood-good maid
wade in the lake and bake the rake,
steal the appeal like Mexican sex,
test the hammer,
massage the passage,
a proud loud mustache,
mango prison-lizard,
kitchen-blazer,
dirty-sun doorway,
hell is forward and up North,
six corner bell-shake,
shatter the fool-puff,
wrist-bash the master class money grab,
the first worst purse-hearse,
the tar-car oil spill,
the guilty lobotomized cattle
grazing on dead red soil,
silent animal stampede,
soft moth facecloth,
silky smooth forehead,
turtle trouble double bubble,
pop waddle mottle-clop,
clutter butter middle-worm,
frantic face-sag,
left-handed wrinkle-bag,

dip the sacred grail in the thought-river,
drink the think,
the mighty plight of Egypt,
I done won one thumb,
made God mad,
my toes flow and grow and grow

A woman offers her breast
to the men on the train.
They all decline,
too tired.
“No,” says an old man gruffly
and shoves her breast away.

The woman sits down,
blouse still undone,
breast carelessly hanging out,
dead, lopsided,
perspiring like a bag of milk left out on the counter.
Where are all the wolves?
Where are all the sheep?
Where are all the black eyes and broken teeth?

All is quiet,
the men asleep,
the breast suffocating in the cold air.
There is no bad silence.
Only holy.

For the parakeets in paradise
What are you doing there?

For the famous people everywhere
What's fair about a pear?

I fear you misinterpret my words
For my wisdom is blurred by my foolish youth.

But if you ever end up in a dance to the death
Just remember the song of my tooth:

Brain tumors for sale, come one come all!
Peanuts made into delicious candy balls.

With apples in your teeth and zebras in the sand
Classical music in the sky and aliens in your hand.

With hair on your nails and a kitten for a chin
You'll never be allowed into Celine Dion's house again.

Now fly to the meadows, light the lamp in your mind
Be nice to the creatures, but never be kind
To the lizards that eat out your eyes and your heart
To the hedgehog that lets out the dirtiest fart.

But be kind to the flowers that clean up your room
Be kind to the broom and the dirt and the moon

And if you should paint me a picture in June
Make sure that you sing the most beautiful tune

To the sky and the trees and the sun and the leaves
To the breasts of the knees and the meaningful pleas

For mercy from being the beings that sneeze
And dying of cancer and stinging of bees

And jeez, if you make it to paradise, please
Ask questions until your voice turns to breeze

And beg with the being that once set us free
To bless us with grace and compassion and fleas
To make more lovely things for our eyes, like the trees

To spread love through her music
Till everyone knows
That everything is small
And nothing is all.

Till her hips shrink down to the width of her brain
Till his ego is shredded and sucked down the drain

Till the stairwell is backwards and rain isn't rain
Till suffering is gladness and pain isn't pain

Till the world is upended and beaten and stained
Till the ankles are bitten and devils are sane

When the words are transformed from the sound to the feel,
Then the dreams are transformed from the fog to the real.

You are a busy person.
You are an important person.
You have been many places.
You have seen many things.
You are different.
You are special.
You are not like them.

You are a mammal.
You are an animal.
You are a god-like monkey.
You are a bloody genius.

You know your name.
I do not need to tell you.
I agree.
It is a beautiful name.

You have a job.
You have children.
You have a dog.
You have responsibilities.
You have nooses and weights.
You have balls and chains.
You have shortcuts and wedges.
You have joy.
You have pain.
You are an ambiguous sack of skin.
You don’t really believe in God.

You do not have time to write.
You do not have time to think.
You need to fill your head with facts and knowledge.
Facts and knowledge.
Facts and knowledge.
Fill your head.
You are going to die soon.
Fill your head up as much as you can before you die.
If you are lucky, someone will write a book about you when you are dead.
But you will never get to read it.
You will be dead.

Stop lounging.
Stop napping.
Stop relaxing.
Stop having fun.
You need to keep up.
Hurry up.
Look up.
You are already behind.
You need to catch up.
Speed up.
Nobody is going to wait up.

Wake up.
Get up.
Fix up.
Dress up.
Say something funny.
Try not to smile.
Now extract a small piece of knowledge from your vast supply.
Now use it to impress them.
Take a sip of your drink.
Now smile.
Smile I said.
Smile wider.
Smile nicer.
Smile better.
Stop smiling.
There’s something in your teeth.
It’s been there all night.

Now go home.
Read a book.
Read faster.
Hurry up.
Read a book.
Now turn off the light.
Close your eyes.
Now dream.
Dream deeper.
Dream harder.
Dream with more meaning.
Dream in color.
Dream with more feeling.
Come on.
Dream like you really mean it.

Wake up.
You’re late.
You dreamed too long.
What were you thinking?
It’s all your fault.
Get up.
Eat up.
Drink up.
Wash up.
Hurry up.
Tie up your laces.
Tie faster.
Your fingers are shaking.
Tie faster.
Tie better.
Tie stronger.
Now hug your kids.
Hurry up.
Hug faster.
Hug firmer.
Hug with more passion.
Stop hugging.
You‘re late.
You hugged too long.
You’re in trouble.
You’re dirt.
You’re scum.
You’re what’s wrong with society.

Here, read these words.
Look at this picture.
Nod your head.
Nod faster.
Nod with more vigor.
Stop nodding.
Now watch this.
Listen to this.
Learn this.
Write this.
Finish this.
Sit here.
Wait here.
Stand up.
Go over there.
Concentrate.
Hurry up.
You are falling behind.
You need to fill your head with facts and knowledge.
Facts and knowledge.
Facts and knowledge.
Fill your head.
Fill it more.
Fill it faster.
Get more.
Learn more.
Read more.
You need to catch up.
Focus.
You need to get ahead.
Hurry up.
You are going to die soon.

Wake up.
It’s morning.
You are one day closer to death.
Be still.
Be silent.
Let your dreams dissolve into the future.
Let the sunlight feed you.
Today is important.
Today you will quit your job.

Take your time.
Eat breakfast.
Read the newspaper.
Pet your dog.
Take a long shower.
Whistle on the bus.
Apologize to the woman who asks you to stop.
Show up late.
Interrupt a meeting.
Tell your boss you are sick of him.
Tell him he smells terrible.
Make fun of his hair.
Kick over his garbage can.
Now laugh.
Laugh louder.
Yell the first profanity that comes to your mind.
Good choice.
Now slam the door.
Say goodbye to Linda.
Walk outside.
You are free.
You are bold.
You are brave.
You are in control.
You are your own boss.
You are smiling.
You are happy.
You are weightless.
You are floating.
You are a feather.
You are a bubble.
You are a nameless speck of dust.
You are an enigma.
You are an anomaly.
You are a paradox.
You are someone.
You are no one.
You are a misconception.
You are a fleeting feeling.
You are a shadow.
You are a sponge.
You are a mirror.
You are a chessboard without the pieces.

Go home.
Light a scented candle.
Drink some tea.
Nap on the couch.
Empty your bowels.
Put on some African music.
Jump up and down.
Tell yourself you are having fun.
Imagine your life with her in it.
Snap out of it.
Forget she exists.
Go to the fridge.
Eat something unhealthy.
Try not to think about it.
Sit down.
Calm down.
Be quiet.
Be still.
Breathe in.
Breathe in.
Breathe in.
Stop breathing.
Now try not to explode.

Breathe out.
Thousands of puzzle pieces orbit your mind.
They fly constantly.
They fly quickly.
Two puzzle pieces collide.
They lock together.
A perfect fit.
The other pieces hear their cries of delight.
They swarm around the two joined pieces.
They try to fit in.
They latch on wherever they can.
A bigger picture begins to take shape.
Finally the jumbled pieces are organized.
Finally you have order.
Finally you have meaning.
Once in a blue moon.

Wake up.
Tear it all apart.
Watch the pieces crumble.
Watch them flutter out the window.
Close your eyes.
Listen to Mozart.
Ask him a question.
Wait for a reply.
Try to transfer the air from your lungs into his rotting cadaver.
Give up after twenty-five seconds.
Try to think of an idea that you truly believe in.
Try to think of a person whose destiny is greater than yours.
Imagine what it must feel like to be the sun.

Now pray to God.
(You are not merely talking to your conscience.)
Tell him that you love him.
(You do not simply love the idea of him.)
Ask him for forgiveness.
(You do not love yourself more than him.)
Tell him that you need his help.
(Hope is a tangible thing.)
Ask him to help your friends and family.
(The whole world is well fed.)
Amen.

Laugh.
Duck behind all the layers of doubt.
Meet him in that place
Where no one can see you.
In the place that is
Your little secret.

Remember.
We met in the same way that everybody meets.
By chance.
Chance is Cupid’s true identity.
Kindness is his accomplice.

Watch the stars as they people-gaze.
I try to imagine what the stars might look like.
I hear your voice and try to imagine what you might look like.

I try to imagine what a star-person might look like.
I laugh.
Ask me why I’m laughing.
I tell you.
This is the first time we have laughed together.

At some point in our lives we may have both laughed at the same time.
But this is the first time we have laughed
At the same time
In the same place
About the same thing.

Ask me what it’s like to be blind.
I tell you that I wouldn’t know sight if I saw it.
This is the second time we have laughed together.
I tell you that blindness, to me, probably feels a lot like sight, to you.
We both agree that there is much sight in blindness,
And much blindness in sight.

Sparks do not fly.
Planets do not implode.
The universe does not quiver.
Leaves do not fall.
The wind does not gust.
Nothing happens to signify the meeting of our souls.

Go home.
Strip.
Lay in bed.
Stare at the ceiling.
Try to ignore your relentless worries.
Try to clear your mind.
Imagine a shark feeding on your thoughts.
The sun is coming up.
Your eyes burn.
Your brain convulses.
Your skull vibrates.
Your stomach is full of battery acid.
It pinches your insides.
It resonates up and down your legs.
Your veins flow with boiling water.
Steam spews from your pores.
You are on the brink of eruption.
Microscopic violent explosions.
Your cells implode one by one.
Your heart consumes rapidly.
A starving organ.
Takes its revenge.
After years of neglect.
It chokes your soul.
Your lungs turn against each other.
The left kills the right.
Utter chaos breaks out inside you.
You are helpless.
Clutch your chest.
Try to rip it open.
Dig in with your fingers.
Ignore the pain.
Break the skin.
Walk calmly to the kitchen.
Mop up the mess.

Wake up.
Try to breathe.
Inhale greedily.
Try to ignore your humanness.
Watch helplessly as the earth rolls away.

You are a fake.
You are a fraud.
Your own thoughts deceive you.
Reality runs and hides at the sound of your approaching footsteps.

Enter the gate of the wind.
Sit in the pocket of silence.
Replace your mirror with a statue of David.
Replace your ears with the words in your mind.
Your eyes are growing wrinkled.
Your wrinkles are gaining sight.

See the beauty in forgetting.
Erase everything except the eraser.
You might need that later.

Let go of your brain.
Let go of your liver.
Let go of your wrists.
Let go of your knees.
Let go of everything but that which you’ve given.
Hang onto your hands.
Grab one hand with the other.
Hold on tightly.
Don’t let them be stolen away.
Hold your own hand as you walk down the street.
Narcissistic.
Aren’t we all.

Spin in circles.
Pull a leaf from a branch.
Take a bite.
Laugh without restraint.
This is the forty-seventh time we have laughed together.
Bat your eyes.
Swing your hips.
Lick your lips.
Open up.
Catch a snowflake on your tongue.
Jump on my back.
I am your horse.
I am your mountain.
I am your ladder.
I am your compass.
I am your skin.
I am a cloud in your mind.
One day I will disappear.

You are nothing.
Nothing feels nothing.
You are something that feels nothing.
You are a story without a plot.
You are empty.
You are lifeless.
You are full of meaning.
Work.
Try to grasp ignorance.
Pretend.
Raise your head.
Eat the sun.
Dig a hole.
Build an ocean.
Dance slowly.
All alone.
Stroke your chin.
Choke the sky.
Wrap yourself in invisible string.
Collect your hair.
Peel your skin like an orange.
Bottle your soul.
Leave your heart in the ocean you built.
Hide in the grass.
Watch an old lady fish.
Watch her throw your heart into the sink.
Watch her boil it.
Watch her bite through the fleshy bits.
Watch her chew and spit.
Watch her sit.
At a wooden table.
In a dark room.
In a cabin.
In the middle of the forest that the animals have abandoned.

You are nice.
You are ugly.
You are beautiful.
You are a pile of rubble.
The fire has burned you.
The fire has left you.
The fire is gone.
You are perfect.
You are safe.
You are your father's daughter.
You are an empty shell.
You are buried in the snow.
You are a thrower of stones.
You are slow.
You are dying.
You are rotting.
We are slow.
We are dying.
We are rotting.
You are your mother's face.
You are your father's eyes.
You are your brother's smile.
You are your cat's indifference.
You are cold.
You are freedom.
You are a puddle in the desert.

I told you already.
One day I will disappear.
You are going to die soon.

This is the two-hundred-and-eighty-fourth time we have laughed together.
This is the last time we will laugh together.
We are drinking coffee.
I speak.
Even a mute cries out when shot in the heart.
Agree with me.
Tell me that I’m right.
Agree with everything I say.
You think that to disagree with a blind man
Is to insult his lack of sight.
I think that sight does not rest in the eyes.
Agree with me.
You have no choice.
Though I do not have sight
I can see how far you have fallen.
I can see you
As you avoid eye contact with a blind man.

Now.
Electrocute the world.
Wake up these corpses.
Show them what
It really means to live.

Assemble these bodies.
Wrap the flesh around tightly.
We can't let these empty souls
Escape once again.

Pump life through these veins.
Breathe hope to these lungs.
Clean out the dark and dusty
Corners of our hearts.

This is the day
Our flames will unite.
Torch the world in fire.
Turn darkness to light.

A last gasping breath.
No words to be spoken.
Our spirits rise up.
Our bodies are broken.

Jumping off the cliff.
The proverbial cliff.
It can't be anything but proverbial.
And I can't imagine how anyone could embark on a journey
that strays from the path I'm on.
How do I relate to God when I'm human?
How do I relate to Human when I'm god?
Forgive me this sin of being born,
Of living and breathing this impure air.
To stretch your brain is to inflict pain upon it,
And THIS is beautiful.

Where have my senses gone?
Stolen by fabrics and spices.
This light evokes vague insect shadows,
Reveals a spider hiding in a crack in the wall.
The voices overlapping,
Void of meaning,
Where everything and nothing exist simultaneously.
A hiccup in space creates the human race
And wakes us up like babies seeing the sunrise for the very first time.
We are all children of light,
Born of dark parents
And supercilious grandparents
Whose genes were unsuspectingly multiplied.
Cultured idiots prancing about for a king who
despises us more than the hair on his back.
He spits in the air and drowns the masses.
Violent yellow tidal waves of backwashed proteins and
cartilage from cute fuzzy chicken corpses.

No mercy for the defenseless chickens.
From lion to chicken to ant to elephant,
We understand what is contained within our minds and nothing more.
These containers are perfectly filled.
Jello is not made from snow.
Chickens worship chickens,
And cows shall have no other gods before the god of cows.
Who are we to believe?
The chickens, the cows, or the humans?
Push a piano down the stairs and see which note sounds loudest.
Wrap your tongue around your brain and
see what blind faith tastes like.

Back to the start,
When we were born,
The first words to escape our lips: "I'm sorry"
In infantile gibberish,
The language of heaven to which we'll never return.
"I'm sorry," we say,
To cover for the years of tears and joy
And hurt and damage we are about to inflict upon the kind delicate universe,
Which is infinitesimally small,
And is the only thing that exists outside the realm of non-existence.

That's not me behind those eyes.
The weight of the world on this glass,
Not enough to break the scale.
Blank page crying out,
Filling itself with words,
With strokes of this pen it just met.
Up, down, up, down,
Motion you'll never forget.
Don't cry on this spinning round object,
Refresh this moment again,
Before we forget,
Refresh it again and again,
And then toss it away in a moment of sin,
Where the mind goes blank and erases all traces of itself,
The infant rises within,
You're pure again.
Thread disappearing down a feline throat,
You choke up a memory and stain the rug again.
The best love is this sharp love that lasts for a moment.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.