SWAMPMAID INTRODUCTION

I love the dirty mermaids of the swamp

known to a very strange few.

Most of us were knocked into the swamp

by accident.  Only the most perversely

persistent found favor.  We live longer

than our civilizational selves.  Scars attest

to the healing brine of muck's ferment

before it faded under laughter

the sliding of perceptive vines

sheer sap of earth's desire

vehemently fucking.

MOPPING UP THE BLOOD

(a meditation)

Mop up the blood.

Put out the fire in your mind.

Worship the sheer

promiscuity of creation,

Syncretism's corridors

between the crated hordes

of crashed civilizations,

wherein I sit on threadbare cushions

contemplating Thomas Aquinas.

Chairs all quiet, down

to one cat, Mister Bingley.

Dark salt chocolate,

mysterious granola.

I'm the mushroom controller.

ANAYECH (in the guard of the Empress)

(in sacrifice to Ananke)

Spread your legs as wide as you can

and let me fuck you unrelentingly while

looking you placidly full in the face,

letting your pussy leak

so I can flip you over

and eat your cum out of your ass,

and thank you for it, you who are

so superbly tactful in everything,

the one shy thing that should not be denied,

O bridge of flowers holding

over froth of brine

horizon where a portal shines

and aligns with satin dressings

and the architecture of our sculptural

window frame with a red shade to praise you

adorned with invisible glass,

I love to see you walk,

my naked little panther,

how you need to taste the children out of me,

how you know your dainty little

28-yr-old bootyhole needs butter

as your eyes need to widen

as you need to snarl quite naturally

while you salaciously examine my pleasure,

if you let me take the condom off

I will lick the sauce of life away

praising you as the wife of everything

that pierces this veil of temporary darkness,

we are unfathomed yet

we of unknown generations

coming to take our place in

the strange tectonic web of time

trespassing only iron law

if you are fiction or altered

maybe I will be tempted

to accept you anyway

and let myself be oiled also

I will willingly bend over.

THE FOOL

(for Kalob Thurston)

Flowery bright red florid fool

with bright yellow boots

on an even yellower background

I know you are going where I am going

because I am always going there,

I know we will meet each other

in some semblance of a field of battle

riding thru with huge magnetic hatted

bar besotted hilariously cape-wearing

microphone-blowing John Landino

reveling in pure un-chased Mariolatry on the last

dick waving stage, being generous with everyone

in those garage days, manly and simultaneously

henlike like Allen Ginsberg, beloved father.

And yet I am excited

with my eye-ring

expecting to meet you,

as if I were a David Lynch camera

trained on a shoe store

I am coming home

HELL

Red tide on the slate of streets

the fire of forever

dwarfing every streetlamp

in a gorgeous plume.

Ransacked bodies

strewn across blooming hills

stalks ripping through ancient cells

in newborn incarnations.

Only the somber spirit

gravely facing the pain

will survive in light.

CAPITAL

Money enfolded in flesh

the spirits that mold

such a parade of grotesque faces

pinched humans made by machine fingers.

The worship of accumulated filth

with a golden name.

Cancerous tool, get your fibers

out of my fucking DNA.

MODERN OUTPOST

A fortress of frozen cheese

bending under angered sunlight.

FUCK AMERICA

Your empire will die disgustingly,

as it deserves to.

The hatred of all your children

will descend on your soul.

Your life of arrogance

will be remembered

only as endless horror.

Your memory will be buried

under a dung heap

and still be hated mysteriously.

Your artificial life

has overwhelmed

the weakened original.

There is nothing

of substance left.

Pissing on you

would be mercy.

Strangling your rotten throat

would be an act of love.

A blue void opens beneath my feet

pulling poison from my every pore.

Strings of dark brown acid

leaking through ethereal haze.

I float away on an electron grain.

The seed sprains the shrouded sky.

A network surges with accumulated spit.

I'm leaving it scratched and gashed

with the hatred of my eyes,

with the plowing reach

of my cloud-covered hands,

marked by all my emptiness and light

where a bright thought's born to die

for revelations on the sly.

The smoking neighborhood

is hurled into space.

A leaf of worlds goes

floating by from some galactic tree.

Roads are withering on the earth

the folds of clay between long grasses

sighing of a time when they were formed

in the furrows of a yearning churn.