Crooked Symphony for Marmalade Mermaids

Sadness chases me down like a mad dog in heat

I run

Clouds eat up the moon

The moon is lonely

I run.

Sanity eats my mangoflesh like maggots from Battleship Potemkin

I run

Shit spills over

Sky stretches out

Chainsaw cuts through guts

I run.

I think of mother

I run

The world’s ablaze the world’s a haze the world’s fucktard shade of purple and grey the world’s rainy day rainy night waiting for absinthe eyes drooping head bowed flowers falling all falling falling

Do i need to run?

All intellect ends in a cloudy old man

All love ends in a sad little girl

All prisons end in godlike harmony

All perfection ends between me and mirror

Don’t i need to run?

Our shadows rummage through half-broken tombs which once were cosy bombshelters for all those gooey gobble-garbled Universal threeshot wrenchdrenched woebegone trombonestruck goblins

One of these houses they named TS Eliot

Another one they named Marilyn Monroe

All these before Jurassic Age descended on one blatant December midnoon and all was fire flames moths whores carnage decimation cannons boomed out in barbaric brutality. Lions whimpered. Amore ate coolbloo. Coolbloo ate my halo. I ate a muffin. I was a temple. I am a template. Tempted tempest non-est tralalaloolooloombachocolocolayayayata etc etc it all goes in and nothing comes out. I’m scathed. Sorry, I meant scared.  

Beijing is a hash place. Sunset is a nasty song. Oh parallel traditions of mortality how i worship o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how o how till the bearded dick-in-hand torch-bearer with sabre-toothed nostrils comes charging down the mountains and starts lampooning this bit that bit of sweet little droplets of innocence shortchanged by the temerity of pearly wisdom tucked away inside the blackbook for otherbirds (mind, not thesebirds. Mind, not sullenbirds).  

Shit, the mountains are sad too

Shit, i killed the headless rainbowchild-deathchild-dawnchild

Find three heads and stick them on

Grow up and go insane

Naked rain fucker rain

Monstrous one eyed rain

Sun moon stars fellatio octagon rain

In caves they say history grows older than time

Time grows older than profane yellow masters of beatified cauliflowers

In rapid succession, kings and queens move around this seven-jewelled axis of darkness

Ponies jerk off

Piranhas rise tall and strong from stellar tides and eat from the tree of doom

Bells toll in doom

i in doom

you in doom

we in doom

and we are all very tired – thus spake the joker who had a book of perfect failure stuck below his left armpit and one of pure mayhem stuck below his right –

in a funny voice

before the spanking of the virgin the humping of the three sisters of rot and the musical interlude began

Six seasons hold their grace in a cup of wine-scented words and spaces

Poetry is born.

Poetry is ugly.

Poetry is thirsty.

Poetry is cruel.

What did we do to deserve this?

We were the Titans once

we are all dying tonight.