his round rubber image is rocking through my robbing mind.
words they come from the undergarments in my underground lair, my flair for something that’s there, not here. not anywhere but all at once.
the race of flying colors, they persist not in time, but in the jagged jingle
of the laughter of sense.

not in me, but in the reflection of me, laced around the living room. tucked inside the birth brown earth clown. knowing the music has changed. listening to the range of rolling rage. pittering out the patterns of persistent presence. saying i want to wantless now. roll roll roll toil trouble and bubble.

oh then just pulse through the words. then just remember that you are never a rememberance of anything but truth.

i was 14. i couldn’t hold on. i felt his hand slip out of my fingers and i saw this glowing shape morph endlessly into the bubbles and gurgles of a slurping, swollen sea. he floated for a moment, then dissolved into a silver stream of appalling light. he felt and flew and i knew and nearly knocked my knowledge out of the newness. i was dissolving spaiously into soundless horror and he was drifting away on the edge of despair. fire fire fire ignite my bones and let my little icicle heart stream back to the edge of possibility. let me know the future again. let me feel the past between my toes. let me revolve back to the revolution of age and agelessness. let me surrender my soul to the sound of science. let me control and contrive and revive this lifeless corpse of contradiction and courage. no words, just the word no escaping my barely audible, barely shape-abe, barely breathing little liquid lips half frozen to the bottom of my nose. my sweat dripping through my skin in shapes and sorrows, in drips, drops and drowning dregs of despair.

slice slice, whittle and distort. contort and contrive. speak the data, the rational realization of the radiator of release.

 

this is the story, this is the one i’m saying to you. this is the day, this is the expression of the express train through my mind to your soul. this is how the world began to bubble, under a beaker, tipping over and touching the sound of the sand, each breath one right after another, coming up across the fetal formation of foundational fragments. this is how it felt. it felt like bubbling pink and blue and white-washed air of marmalade mandarin movements of mythological moments. it felt like heaving and healing and a great wound being sorted and sordid and surviving.

and then you flowed backwards. and then time flipped on its head, twisted on its red silver strings and saturnized its sacred, sacrificial heart. pounded its grounded flesh out onto the sundial that gave it form and cocked its crawling head out of the corners of captivity. we caged this little dribbling dragon and poked and prodded its precious pearly skin long enough and fast enough that it surrendered to the sound of a strange and senseless ticking. The burning, boiling beast and all its burdens and feathers and floating fears condesend, consolidated and coagulated into a crusty, cracked narrowing direction. all the possible breaths it wanted to want fell around in shadows and streaks and slimey wet sadnesses. The body burnished its beauty and belonged to its own banishment. The bones brittled, and the grief gutters, the broken bowls and the howling hungers all hurried and harrowed and narrowed saying finally, with one gasping growl- forward.  

all liguid dreams began to lock themselves into lists. all sweet serene seas of cerebral soundscapes surrendered themselves to the scratching and screeching of the slamming sections of the

 

broadened. surprised and surmised. surrounded and impounded. crouched and cuddled and curdled and carnivorous clam shells, egg shell slamming and door fire inquirers. fresh winter snow caked under my nebulous nails. the nails and the pails and the jack and jill jangle jingling all the way. jumble jacket and juniper july jogging your memory under the mind misery.

 

what is in my brain what is tossing in the rain
the explanation of the exploration of the expression of extra-terrestrial terrain of torture and terror and timeless tracks of turning tucked tickling worlds and words of wind and winds of wide open windows to wonder and wizzened weird wildabeasts beating bundles of bumble bee trees under the core of the apple barrel brine.

little old hardass. playing hardball. slamming big chunks of coal dust in the round wet wilderness.

we all grabbed our brains by the bobblehead and tossed them into the sea. we all took out our nerve endings and exploded them inside our exploratory

coal coal, do the dance find your hard footed prance among the stars
the appetite of the rain, the twisted soothing energy of
your mine field, the strikes the sounds the burning hounds.

 

 

 

 

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