The Show

The Show

When he howls another sky onto the black canvas,

I forget how to stand on uneven thoughts. Now, it’s dance or sink.

Dream spreads from the head, pours over the levy.

Time flood resumes: I'll remember burying this pain in my guts, knowing I no longer wanted it, that there was no truth or fiction, just the circular friction of electron bodies swarming around a neutral nucleus.

Gorgeous forgetfulness.

Blissful ignorance.

Children in on a space shuttle to Georgia.

Clattery peace of a unified scream.

 

              Then there were monsters falling from Heaven, Martian Pigmen dressed in soundwave wedding gowns with wrought iron teeth and blue sequined eyes shaped from pipe cleaners that looked like long caterpillars. But, it didn’t matter. We were gods turned inside out with a laughter that could shift the skyline.

 I am the scariest silhouette creeping through this foggy stone forest        anyway.

 All backgrounds burn where we live. Photo albums become disaster dictionaries.

 

Napalm in teacups sugared with the stone dust of pulverized statues and love-cakes cancered with menthol cumulonimbus exhales.

 

It will rain brimstone while we giggle battle hymns written in pig-Latin as long as the music doesn’t fizzle.

In the lovely aftermath, useless kids with dyed hair and cracked boots will sit on dirty curbs and wonder when the ugly gray future will swallow them whole.

 Battle-scars are usually maps back to something ugly.

We might all meet back up when we're broken.

We'll never feel like this again. 

Reviews

[ju]

love the photo albums, and the kids on the curb. it's those everyday images- so easy to relate to- make for a better grip on the slippery, surreal stuff. gorgeous forgetfulness. yep, i like that.

[Robin]

uckin-fay ool-cay

and those last lines ... yeah

[Kenneth The Poet]

You are the master of acidic, acid prose. You inspire acid trips without the need for LSD.