SoLaCePaRoXySM

The need returns. How simply she slips back under the fingernails And dances with flourishing shutters and ripe trains of silk. A single drop was all she needed, With her visceral hedonism and need for nudity, She crawls back into bed with me. Nourishes me and puts me to sleep Once I've Sated her. What a terse course of action and pith she makes In her solitary reverence. She pulls me forward And holds me back Simultaneously With a surgeon's precision And a junkie's Willpower. God save the pens now that she's returned. Soon it will be Pens, pens everywhere And not a Drop of Ink.

Coming back on a bus from Boston, I stopped at your door. I left my eyes in your mailbox and my teethe in your flower pots, For they've no use anymore. Shrubs made not their fragrant beds on my return, But they a dish of chilies and vittles made, For sons to wear at Masquerade While the Piper was paid. Upon goat stomachs they carried me out From whence an unholy Hannibalian dirigible Regurgitated me out Since I aggravated the sprout and was cast back Into the fold of old salt and grass Where stone overcomes it.

Callous. Everything is Callous, Callous. Broken arms and swallowed swords Turn it all to Callous, Callous. You can rip it off, Tear it, Split it, But it remains Callous, Callous. Not Calais, But Callous, Callous. The Moon is rife with Callous, Callous. The ocean in its timeless beauty Is Not, For you find no fluidity in Callous, Callous, For there is none To Be Had. And by these means we find an end to justify the Callous, Callous. How is for future generations to decipher while they sit and ponder The Sins Of The Father. In this precise predicament, we communicate and extricate the extraordinary nature

My hands have the sharpest sight Watching the orhids take flight. A gazelle falls to her knees; Begs the Great Serpent to pay her fees. Abrasive taste of toxic waste. Make haste through the paste. The clerics make thei mountains And sing of spring. Silver twigs shatter the sky, And the Old Man is rather shy. Along the beach, a lemon tree grows. Why it's there, no one knows. Out on the plain, they writhe in pain. It feels the same, this tired game. Disciples pray to the shadows And weep for the dawn. The coins in my purse Make the dog's cough worse. And every single cell Feels just like hell. The peacock laid a cubed egg,

When the stork is eyeing your fingertips And cherry trees sprout from your lips, The entangling desire of alligator hips Dangles in a mire of forgotten ships. She is sick and full of fruit Calling out against one single brute With a jar around his boot And a minstrel in his hair, grievously plucking at his lute. What an odd placement of lilac roots lay here As a crowd of opal flowers stare in a silent cheer, But the beast of the ravine can only jeer And think about the construction and how it is quite queer. You smell of almond water poured over the Silken King As the octopus longs for a mouth made of the finest sterling. I can'

Walking in a shadow behind her eyes Where the meadow flies, Where the widow cries. I'm sitting on the side of the road Like a big, green toad. I can't help but wish For someone to flop like a fish. Let's throw him againsto the tide And see if he likes the ride. Sitting in the grass waiting for a life to pass. Some say he was crazy, some say he was mad, Some say he was hazy:  All I know is I'm glad. They were pretty amazed at what they found. Now they're puttin' him in the ground. Needless to say, all his friends were pissed 'Bout every single sign they missed. Can you imagine the shroom from the bomb When they told his dad an

I can't give it back.   There's nothing I can do.   I can't give it back once I do you.   Wrap your lips around me, sail away on a wet dream.   Wrap your legs around me, sail away on a scream.   Enter the cocoon, metamorphose soon.   I have found solace in the oddest tomb.   Enter the cocoon, metamorphose soon. Enlightened in a darkened cave surrounded by you.   No, I'm not breaking her heart:  this is just the painful start.   I wish I could alleviate this part, but it's worth it for this work of art, because I'm breaking the virgin, because I'm breaking the virgin because she's an outdated version, because I'm breaking the virgin

You and I were on a mountaintop.   We were watching all the speeding cops.   We were searching for enlightenment on Mt. Sinai.   We asked God what his name was, and he said, "I am what I am."   I'll take his silence as a hint that maybe Jehovah's not in a body. Maybe, just maybe, he's above you and me, so why lower our creator to a corporeal plane, making him the same?   He doesn't tell his children his name, because there's power in such a thing. He doesn't tell his children his name, because your God wants everything.