Victorian Chant From the Mattress of a Comfort Cell

This road is made of four walls.

One day – maybe Sunday – the green dragon

might insert itself within the waking

fantasy that cloudy walks, talks, but in

what language I cannot say, for I cannot

recognize the noises in the drums

inside my head. I beg thee shut the fuck up,

dearest; excuse my mood while like a pendulum

it swings, like a wrecking ball it demolishes

iconic fixtures into ruins, relics.

 

Get back darling, stand at a distance

safe from the reach of my accidental agony.

 

Stand back dearest, don’t come near the

murderous mystery, don’t console the beast.

 

Where hast thou buried my once potent

patient potion, Prudence. Where hast thou

buried the ashes of my still blood-dripping

flesh, Woman. Existence, your premise

is the fabric of my nightly hysterics.

Amen.

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Hemp Insanity

[Them giggles grind the teeth from
the wire-shut mouth]

Jacquelyn breaths fire like the dragon
on the chinese urn on display
at the permanent boutique on
the central west end. Every dragon
has a slayer; incubus awaits within
the wall of the old hotel for
her will to reach the land of Nod.
Tense, twitchy, ready to suffocate.

The arsenic cloud emerges
as a head board and drowns
the good looks swimming
in the Kimono. She can’t say
no and still she tries, only
humming, desperately,
moaning stop, mildly
jerking in the slumber.

Morning comes and Jacquelyn
hurts. With every breath she exhales
smoke.

Hurry nowhere fast or sit still
and wait hard. Nothing a boozy
binge cannot explain; we watch
the neon strings that hold the
dollar bills of nudity, hopelessness,
drink woman, tonight he visits
again, smokes! Levitate.

Karmani ave adhikars te
ma phalesu kadachana
ma karmaphal hetur bhoo
ma sangostu akramani.

Slay the ignorant doubt
of the reasoning of a mind
bewildered. Prevent inaction
from splitting the rib cage
and choking imagination.
Tranquility is the antidote
to this gruesome hemp insanity.

The Long Man and the Super Eagle

I can guarantee the skepticism blooming from the tips of my fingers with the incredulity of my cloudy eyeballs. Last night I fell asleep with hops – or was it two days ago? – I fell hard and landed on my innocence. My legs have been moving for some time, and my face I bury in shame, always on a treadmill of increasing possibility.

Doctor, doctor, where is the shaman or the herbalist or the spiritualist that can snap me out of this black hole of relativity.

I’ll be sleep walking just to wait for the Titanic to sink the brick wall of time, that impenetrable (repeat: impenetrable) obstacle.

Say dreamer, you dreamt of these words, dreamer you might have even requested them, dreamer.

For now it is all long man and the super eagle.

 

 

Trouble With Dreams

Trouble with dreams is they blend into the vague mornings and intoxicated nights. The trouble is remembering to wake enough at night to realize the dream is happening, so there can be some control, or rather, some illusion of control. Trouble with dreams is they come to me at night, with the moon, but not just in the winter. Eventually clouds part and birds chirp, even in the winter, because some realize they can’t fly, even if they can forever sing.

Now I am up at dawn with my hunting cap on. I wish I shot dear, but I have been up all night, and I don’t shoot well. We sit together; you with your blurred face, you are the one who always shows in my dreams. I am faceless, I have never dreamt a conventional mirror. Would you come with me?

I know this friend is not afraid to fly, I have seen her taking trips all the time. Would you come with me if I left right now? I need help lifting the heavy sun into the sky. I ain’t no superman but I can fly at night. Please tell those waiting for the sunrise to please hold on as best they can. We will not forget anything, even if the sun is heavy for superman, we can lift it.

The blended worlds come from somewhere. A fountain. The fountain of words that exist. This is only an attempt to stay sane.

Does that make me crazy? What if I know too much about these dreams, does that make me crazy? I only wish I was different, but I know the waking dreams are much like the sleepy nights. Come on now let us get these souls blessed. I think you are crazy, that your lovers are crazy, just like me. Yet I want to live another life, much like theirs. Since I was little I would pick my dreams from a machine, and maybe I’m crazy, but the dreams are better than the so called truth. I’ll sleep when I die.

Bug-Eyed Disappointment

What a bug-eyed disappointment I found in that chest full of royal mementos. Once a winter bird, her majesty migrated into an unknown orbit where she thought she’d find company. Now the cycle is perpetuated by mercenary lovers after my dignity.

Safer people beg me to hide, but the rush of teasing vapid desire is too close to the thrill of hunting with no persecution. Patience is the camouflage. From a distance I am invisible to my prey, but my scent is strong. The animal walks by, checks for vital signs, and revives the anima with her drunken lips.

I am the hunter, I chase after your persecution.

Patience is my camouflage, dreams are the distraction. Solitary confinement is only so until the demons come out from under a medieval quilt of reclusion. I slept while the wretched creatures conspired against my fragile psychology. I woke with bruises on my body and a dagger I handled with surprising dexterity, as if I had taken lessons in my sleep.

Blood was on my mind. The muses had turned against me. They have kept me in a static enlightenment. They have infected my perception with ambrosia, drained the ichor out of my veins and replaced it with a glass of conium.

I’ve been made into an assassin, a snake that waits for the victim to show interest for the appetizing shine of the fruit, a snake that uses reason to trap the victim’s teeth into the sweet flesh of regret. I’ll show the stigmata, I’ll let the woman stick her fingers in my wounds.

Once the prey disrobes in confidence, she will join hell under the medieval quilt of reclusion. Woman I’m a snake, a legless lizard, my skin is covered in scales, I rattle and hiss, please keep distant from the evil seduction of nothingness.