Medicine Head and Temporary Illusions Prevail

Mercy red,
with her protective hand,
said to stay clear of the liver.
The liver,
damn liver.
Spine tingly ecstasy,
dropped a cannonball in the turret.
Mesmerizing like Kevlar,
i’m stronger then Tupperware.
Light me a blaze,
head light dazed.
Eyes dilated,
I look afraid.
Lost in a mission,
objective not completed.
Now where did I put my keys?
Miss placed my brain cells,
dead in tiny body bags.
Packed away underground,
camping with the Calvary.
The bugs that invade my skin,
I can feel them now.
Caressing,
coursing while biting,
sticking,
itching while taking,
holes burrowed,
dug pierced and pressed.
I’m their food silo,
a cookie jar source.
This is black magic,
I am above now.
The hollow bellow of owls,
echoing in reverb.
sounds tinny,
as your about to fade.
Loud adjusted magnitudes of volume,
promise to pour me another drink.
I am length wise,
flat beneath the sink.
The mirror was a bad idea.
Stoned like medusa,
kept in stasis.
Shocked petrified,
sticky paralysis.
I shouldn’t have looked,
made eye contact with myself.
I didn’t like what I saw,
and neither did I.
Both ashamed.
we turned away.
Dizzy,
inflicted,
gravity pulled me close,
and told me a secret…

sleep tight

Green Gobs of Family Matter Tortured by All Honest Saint Gertrude

Sometime the sport has to stop,
the game needs to end.
Fog lamps and cylinders of white fluff,
my metalic plush stuffed animal.
Some robots have heart,
at least a brash imitation of one.
Covered guns in a clear all tarp,
draped like studio shades.
We met on the floor,
on green granite tile,
stylized in the pattern “Crown of Thrones”
Two stitch three in a loop,
the bird bath caved from over weight.
To many cooks in the kitchen,
to many hands in the pot.
Horace came after the pilot
politely told the passengers “Were about to crash”
“Gangbusters” read the headlines,
conspiracy theories galore.
I am afraid of the media,
the subtle guidelines in which to abide by.
worse then them,
are the zealots who believe.
Who is kissing who,
in Rodney Tops shop?
Holding hands in syncopated step.
This isn’t news.
Forget the front man,
suck the litigious hand.
Easy to copy,
soon enough to follow.
The dollar bill drips blood,
and snorts cocaine for fun.
It’s not a habit.
Never was an addiction.
Momentary laps of reason,
truth is better then fiction.

Musical Marinade in Tear Duct Four

Two guys,
one mind,
jamming
In half fast food indulgence.
Split down the center,
breaking grease,
stress release
in August's heat.
It beats us dry,
drips us
drains us;
no shadow where we stand,
only a puddle where the sweat lands.
This represents where we once were,
our chalk line on the floor.
A 6 pack hydrates,
continues us on,
Head strong.
Not knowing where we’re going,
but we know we’re headed somewhere.
It doesn’t matter,
we don’t care.
We have our frenzy,
this stream of consciousness.
The beat brings us closer,
as the strum glides us along.
Two separate screams,
is the essence of fun.
Mix them together
into the sound of one.

Marinaded
Musical
Unadulterated
PERFECT.