One Strong Shitkicker
January 3, 1889.
The roaches of life are finally free today
Greek heroes and their rapechildren sleep in peace.
The machines of make-believe rain are falling silent,
one after the other,
deep down the stunned wishing wells.
So much adoration all around. The moon doesn’t care much
That fat bastard seems keen on love now.
Hello mister crocodile have you seen my mother?
“Yes little one, she was passing this way when the skies turned green
And the moist earth smelt of love, hitherto unseen.”
January 3, 1889.
Turtles for Life v/s Pumpkins for Love
And then the strangest telegram
“Old God makes stunning recovery. Stop. Rejoice. Stop.”
And then the tiny doctors
with blue hair
and orange ears
march out of their building – an army meant for preservation of valour and sanity
Before long, smoke streams out of the fifth floor window
and coils up, serpentine: lordbound and relieved.
Uproar has been choked off. Lids have been shut.
The mermaids can stay in total tolerant harmony henceforth.
God has survived. long enough for splendid decay.
Away from the atom sunlight my scanner, my database of
hardboiled information writes to me
like I used to write to you about the whores about the mango tree and and
and about two friends named
Insurrection and Resurrection whose telepathic senses and my genitalia pulled me closer to the Mango Tree! Mango Tree!
Fuckfuck over wash penis wash cum off body wash pubic hair between teeth wash and be clean water of love water baptize water clean pure water like mother I slept in water inside mother I can’t sleep now I can’t swim now I can’t love now I am not clean now my soul is not clean now and everafter haha fun good fun thickfat fun, fun is good for soul. My soul is very old. How young is yours?
Wholesome by fade leaves
by the harmony I picked up from
the pavement outside the liquor shack
There was a temple right outside the house of my favourite slut
Her skin was soft.
After good fuckfuck I rinse mouth I come out I look inside temple I see god
I close my eyes not to see god I die I live minutes and seconds of vast reckoning
Mad momentary recollection gleams mammary glands all things prehistoric though transient.
Donkeys tell of love to Jurassic reptiles.
I have a hard-on once again.
Prehistory is good
Prehistoric man’s shadow walks beside me
Prehistoric woman’s nakedness frightens me.
I see silhouettes on walls.
On roofs as well.
Now I am all alone
Now I am with shapes and forms.
Truculent turtles make love.
I make nothing.
I am not terrified anymore
So I sleep.
I dream of ships and stars and of conjoined twins
I dream of weeping geometry
Flesh shrieks in dream
Flesh shrieks in awakening.
I try to link all I see with all I hear
Twenty one canon shots when I die
Hot babes blowing bugles
I die erect
Hot babes blowing phallus of my corpse
Blood-semen-world-earth-father-divinity-symphony all frozen-all-all
Frozen like moths bees butterflies frozen dews frozen bluebells frozen asses
I stare at ripe sturdy buttcheeks of men and wonder about my lack of homosexual inclinations
Or is it just a dot and a dash before indictment?
I unborn inside water inside mother I grow fresh strong I derive nourishment
I dead inside water like Phlebas water sucks nourishment I decay I rot or maybe I don’t but my body does and my soul my soul o soul why do I not believe in you?
Sunshine speaks of calamity and deviance.
Sunshine will not speak of calamity or deviance when I die.
All is good when I die
All is bad and awfully fucked now.
Soldiers from graves of dread attack world
Nevertheless, I sleep.
I dream of straight road leading from Ishtar’s womb to my crotch
It’s a road of enlightenment: one that shoots ego, enslaves id,
commandeers superego. all for love and love for all.
Prophets look at me from clouds
I become Emperor of blank spaces.
I declare raw war against the world.
Compasses have been broken tonight
Dogs make terrific love in bitter rain.
Flowers derive nourishment from soil
Soil smells good after rain.
I love soil. I love flowers.
One day I will be one with flowers and soil
Till then, allow me, sweet allure,
to kneel before the altars of love.
Flowers fall on blood. Blood carries flowers to brain
They add up to make one big flower.
I can’t speak of flowers anymore.
heart of the city is one big flower too.
Heart of the brain is where the other soil is
When it rains on that soil
living here seems kind soft and comforting.