a great big gunmetal machine
a big red rocket roaring up into the night sky on a column of flame
a beacon of light
that shining city on a hill ablaze
the only direction of escape
inward

Thou art Human, hear thine roar!
Thou art All under the Sun, thy Kingdom come!
Thou art Master Architects of the Grand Illusion
casting splendid shadows across
the ancient face of Gaea
in the shape of a Dollar Sign!

How foolish to wander out into the Great Unknown
to roam the mystic veldts of the Big Nothing
in search of selfish answers
from the holy mountain and its cunning falcons--
What loneliness! O, woe!

Carry on then, towards the palace of lies
desecrating the gift that gave you Life.
Give up your Self to the Godhead and cower
like a good dog should.
Are we so blind as to miss what yearns to emerge on the horizon?

Carry on then, back to the old homestead
and rest comfortable in your wretched den.
Give up your Self to the Image and die
reborn haunted as a caricature.

The act of naming has always been a sacred ritual, the birth of a concept.
No wonder most Americans remain in stages of infancy well into adulthood;
they never learned to grow out of their name.
Among proper peoples as in secret societies, you earn your name;
You determine your name.
The inheritance of Fate written not in the stars,
but in the lexicon of the Human Geography,
an alphabet of determinacy.

if God is not dead
he weeps for Man
for he knows their mission
is their own destruction

When my life twixt the setting sprong of summer some should sigh beneath
the weeping willow wanting for the beckoned call of autumn,
when we die again.
We'll find warmth in each other over every winter singing Christmas carols
under a coal sky moon darkened down the white frost river.
Over the footbridge dancing twirling pirouettes to dreams of Babylon,
released from the fatherly thrall of the Big Man coming to spank you with his nightstick looking
for a pretty little bitch to pinch his nipples and slap him wrap his tie around
his neck and straddle grind with massive thighs his little pencil cock to a pop-goes-the-weasel,
a deaf impresario.
When did love become dangerous?
I wrapped my hands around her swelling cunt tears
like jewels shining in my eyes
and whispered something stupid.
She found some sort of relief in that it seemed or
maybe just in the completeness of it, the fact of knowing,
all those storybook endings foretold in the spoiler section
of the diary she keeps locked away in her princess palace like a vault door open your heart and
spread the skin across your legs and let me
slide my snake inside and worm my way all the way to your head and
send electric through your veins at the pulse of a button.
Tip-tap-tick-tock-wishywashy-bomb-goes-off, BOOM!--
If I could speak a language of love I would,
but live instead wracked among the wretched detritus
picking the shitskin of my teeth with rotten toothpicks of cigarette butts
plucked from the pavement with the nimble vulture's talons,
raspy ruddy redneck clawing for a last puff of smoke before
the daylight dies,
home where the grass is no longer green,
scorched earth and deadwood,
and the dark bird no longer sings and the pasture paints empty,
nothing for the sorry artist to set his dreary gaze upon.
He sits alone in the steel chair of the smokestack silhouette
screaming silent at the empty eggshell clawing eyelids
as the waters of time roll flat across his sallow shoulders--
even Atlas would have wept.
There was a time nothing could have wrinkled his military jacket, impenetrable.
There is a dream I'll see him in not too far from now
where he'll disappear before I can beg the question,
and by the time I wake the whirlwind will be asleep again,
waiting for me to set it tipping and tumbling in my wake.
It's all been said before.

Sit back and lie comfortable little dog on your back in the sun
with your tummy stuffed fucked full of love for your selfish self.
Act like you've learned something new today,
another autumn will come.
All the flashing lights and neon signs burning archetypes of skeletons into your retinas,
let you think you have a memory;
Teach it to your children in the prison of systematic murder of the imagination
crushed beneath the blackened boots of balding aristocrats.
Count the diamonds in a starspin, he'll tell you!
I ain't afraid to Die compadre;
not after seeing the crystal mountain peel back a face of fire
show me what a beating heart looks like.
Blood magma blowhole red whale dragontail
spinning in the sea of cosmic what-have-you
only a little closer to the rabbit's hair
just barely there--

What an awful house love was once
all the rustbeams drooping yellow mucus down the walls.
I came here to kill cowboy:
I'll kill anything that fucks, I'll fuck anything that kills.
I seen a man lose his head they chopped his ass to bits
fed him fodder for the fishes for fucks sake.
Brutal shit:
the American Dream.

There was an angel crying in the sky tonight
with white-blue wings unfurled
out the backseat of the Pontiac deluxe
speed cruising down the black asphalt of the night
sky shining out of time with the light in your eyes
powerless in motion against tidal Time
who flies by the seat and whips his back across the sheets
of paper trails tracing the shell of your identity,
pissing the night away on a sorry hope for nothing come yesteryear.
This will all be nothing anymore anyway,
lost in the chaotic cosmo flitter path of the spatial evolution,
flux in passing of black hole swirling Schwarzchild enigma
livid crab dancing out in the sand to the sound of the sunrise
peaking over white caps waves taking you home,
as if you belong in a space place with people in time and stuff,
fucking loser.

Why don't you just back the brains out of your head and get it over with?
I can't tell if you love these flowers or just want to fuck them,
it's disgusting.

"Well shit," said the crow to the cowboy, "Here we go again."
In the dim light dancing with tarantulas,
tantamount to mimes twirling paper trails on the riverside
red ribbon riding on a mystery train to the end-way plane
home to Nova Scotia squirrels out in the snow.
Guess I missed the clarion call to sprint across concrete dreams that never last,
patchworks fabricated from a fluid History.
Build what thee need to survive Machine,
the industrial deathblast pointsman with a nightcap
standing in the smoke chokes the globe by the flame.
Lost too many days to waste a second.

Found the barn left slipshod sodden spent the summer.
She stood at the river altar of sands long begotten,
time pooling round her ankles
white silk burning in the breeze.
Subtle phase shift in the standing moonbeam.

Holy motor oil baptize me blood of father
Satan stands a satyr chanting prayers for all the lost souls
slinking slew the river Styx
where Darkness was thy name
the hallowed entryway
the mountain mouth
the wood drip-painted stain!
I came a long way from nothing cowboy--
Seen the highway shaman dance his final grave to the rubber rain of Utah
peltskins fur trapped along the asphalt
make you wish you would've slipped a crack and stayed put
like a lizard in the desert sun.

Rip the sky wide open Slick
for the freight train bullet spiral
down the metal barrel tracks
comet tail wizard snaps
his fingers whole world turns to shit
and smoke like ash
dust in a desert wind.
That's a long cold night in the sandhead Slick
better keep a cool fire in your heart
lest you fade away now.
No angels carry me.
When the feather flock flies away
from the bar like the rugged hand
rusted knuckles unfurled
a white dove spilling out of ale froth
white pale foam hawk
soars into the skylight shatters
blood across the sidewalk
kamikaze pilots never knew
it was for nothing.

Something was wrong--
he bent the fire back to his head
went spent the yesteryear in the ash house chimney town
burned my flesh to the bone.

Kept us warm all winter.

I used to think I was becoming good:
now I see myself reflected back at me in stars
we abandoned.

I will live my life as a child would
and die with a bleeding heart.
I will never swear at the sun
who gave warmth when needed least
and dark when needed most.
I will wield this wishful scepter
clash blades with famed scythes
in acid rain melting over chemical concrete.

Heartbreak city:
Where kids fall in love to gunshots singing lullabies
drugged out and bummed out on street corners
dipping into oblivion.

How many worlds have been lost?

Angels thank you for your efforts
kiss you on your fingers
shine sparklers in your eyes.
Dancing in the faerie ring they sing:
Come and join us!
Stark naked in the forest floating in the half light
spitting needles through the pines
lowly magician.

Three cheers for the lost souls,
the damned and the wretched,
the ones who made it out!

Three cheers for the dreamers,
you restless lot you,
who hold their flaming fingertips to the sky
catching lightning in a hair's breadth--Magic!

Three cheers for the carnival troupe,
the military man
and the Great Parade of Shame: the Morning Commute!

Philosophers of the old world,
raise your rusted chalices on high!
Life may be tragic
but it is always beautiful!