SOP Seminar

troubling sensations,

hellward omens,

fresh Cuban coffee

and jelly doughnuts.

 

rancid manners of smiley liars

feel like roaches crawling around

inside of my mouth.

 

greasy claws of upright

albino crocodiles in fancy threads

reaching to shake my shaky paws.

 

more snakes than flowers

in this strange backroom garden.

 

I wish I could set this barn on fire

and watch Babylon burn

from my favorite fishing spot,

 

but, as the cocaine snookered hog

behind the oaken podium squeals,

“one must make a living.”

 

yet, as I drift the murky atmosphere

on a higher spiritual frequency

than our shifty overseer,

 

I must wonder how much moral

sludge my soul can hold

before the fabric rips open,

 

and my entire electric river

becomes a fouled and lifeless hole.