election

without election,
i nominate my self the president
of natural selection.
step tap dancing
on the intergalactic attractions.
swill pits
and shit fits
we sail the seas of disaster.
somebody please
change this robots batteries
i mean diapers.
in northern angoria
the whores are extra sloppy tonight
the one armed bandits
team up to scream
for more silver flavoured ice cream.
walter the king of skin,
the flesh master
the pink sea diver.
give food to the cold
with hold
the numbed beaver tongue
lingo langoed
and fluent in
five separate types
of
sublingual
wingo wango.

they

i forgot how to spell my name the other day.
what is in a name anyway
$ay they.
i helped a blind women cross the street yesterday.
why help them? $ay they 
they are problems anyway.

they

i spell forgot the other day.
today blind helped i.
they are grey,
usually hard to see
wear suites in day and prey.
i saw they today.
cant look directly,
crooked like they.

oily oozing fat breadcrumbs,
wet trail leave they.
i can smell they.
they smell of dirty currency,
and poisoned food,
they smell of
rancour.

 they

grey are they,
wearsuites werewolves.
i see they undress today
white diseased flesh,
worm like belly's,
black wiry hair
tangled
in body vine.
ever smell dead leach?
almost minty liquorice,
heavy in my chest,
they no best.
they gave me a tattoo today,
what's in a
name
anyway?

the hospital (part 1)

its colder than an eskimos ass hole in here.
who left all the windows open?
i wonder.
who ever said hell was hot
is a liar
its cold
and it smells like
formaldehyde
cant even remember what ailment dragged me here
pumped so full of drugs
this hospital is a shape shifter
i am magnetized to my bed
echoed conversations down a hall
my room has grown since last time i awoke
the ceiling is now 40 feet high
thin room
i need food
nutrient thirst
water on the floor
someone left the tap on
must be a foot deep
pink light in washroom
the door is a quarter closed
directly in front of me
10 feet away
hard to measure distance
in an environment that keeps changing.

cement

laying on my pillow
eyes closed
the voices are deep
the voices seep in.
the rain season.
steaming brazil,
and a canopy of wilderness.
misty rivers curve carvings into the land
chasing
its streaming tail.

because stains

because stains

im still there cuz im not here
a rainbow of light
fighting for life
between my ears
paper cuts and staple fights
trade a screwdriver in for a new life
propose to a seal
and milk my new wife
a movie without any shadows
a radio with no sound
just me
and my sound
dragging wet pants
downtown
washing cum and mud stains off in the rain
just another day.

back in the dirt world

back in the dirt world

back here in the world of dirt
where piles of sand fill the halls
crumpled receipts create the tumbleweeds ghost
dead flesh and dust clog up my throat
and its all just repeating again
same movie different set.
cant escape the mind rape.
will this tide ever subside
and let me free?
free of this sick sea
filled with human debris.
no mater how much i clean,
it always comes back,
wasting my hours
and charging me tax.
clothes with spots of juice,
cat hair
and cooking food oil.

The middle island

The middle island

lugubrious horse creatures
bent hovering in a downward spiral
tongues outstretched
in reach of Manuel fellatio
the holy grail of sorts.
skeletal bed frames
scrape great sharp sparks
with surgical pristine.
a shark fin angles
dangled
in the shape of a time dial.
sick and wasted creatures
there tortured landscapes
should be our teachers

decafatated

decafatated

the letter sense of amusement
this is it.
the real thing.
the wild west.
show me your sundays best.
the cactus fights
spaghetti
sex girls in the windy city.
lego pock marked marks
tuck you stomach in sir
the reminder
the pocket comb-over
double -over
we call
rover
over
the late afternoons
the fall
playing after school football
with a teacher with one arm
he has a beard
his breathe smells like an old ashtray
oranges, and eggs.
he still has both of his legs
the school bell
it is the never ending pillow fight
from hell.

Sollie 17 (the waste line)

Sollie 17 (the waste line)

loneliness.
boredom.
old men under-wear perverts,
readers of strange literature.
pornographic pictures,
serve as wall hangings
soiled sheets,
and industrial waste land view points.
instant,
distant,
discharge lamp breakers,
black and white televisions
set to stun.

the figure on the bed lies prone
reading cheap western spaghetti
porn
while lazily masturbating
to a dust cloud memory of the desert
the mirror above his head,
sprayed with grey laxative ejaculate
a weird game of self height squirt championships
the figure next to the last
sits with its
drooping shoulders,
the middle pattern,
life's counterweight

next in line
is the elegant sublime
back bone idle,
generously wasting time
hovering between the desires
of escape and self improvement
this creature,
this pity full wax creation
slips
slowly
down
the plastic
static
slide
of life's
waste
line.

iced auger

iced auger

a new creature moved in upstairs
i can hear the boards creaking
while I am sleeping
i wonder what its thinking
for some odd reason
i have an urge
to strap a dildo on the end of my
gas powered
ice auger
and drill holes through
the ceiling
that being

its

floor.

the end of the night

the end of the night
 

a swimming hole
once frequented
by young summer children.
dead commas, and
question marks.
a blue body floats to the surface
with a splash.
my knees weaken
another car crash.

a distance dance

a distance dance

distance strikes at us
like a swinging baseball bat.
when i got home from work,
my house was burning on the drive.
i just kept moving.
i was embarrassed
by my own
laughter.

clouds of cords

clouds of cords

a blue grey body
lying face down dead
on a naked moonlit beach.
clouds of cords
circle circuit
the tangled angle sky.
tunnel carvings recede
and melt distance of an eye.
Hiroshima burn victims
 jog clad
in human scar tissue
yellow leather....

dog tread shadow sheds
mark the horizons
territory.
narrow arrowed corridors
house homes
for the 4/4, fore skin head beasts.
sewn forc-ed in my pervulusions
i am drawn stick figured
towards the piles
of white dusk.

sewer strewn lagoons

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5 times a day

5 times a day

i have to shit 5 times a day.
cant go with people around.
run down the block to the
graveyard,
public washroom
algid,
multi,
blue markers
mint flesh tone
pink tiled world
touch
every
surface
protected by a layer
of recycled city paper
between us
a condom
in a universe
 of
fetulant
feculance.
and
noxious
novulance.
metal shit door
engraved with modern day
lingo
hieroglyphics
messages
half scribbled with the wrong hand
other arm preoccupied with jerking,
shitting
and possibly wipping.

metal shit door
orange pepper flaked hinges
in need of butter greasing on its spine.
a pudding dried skin husk of dirge
coats the walls and porcelain stalls
cant leave john while stranger is pissing
it might think it's me.
layers of padding city recycled
to stop the splash back
stand to crouch
my arm hurts today
it will go away
same as every other day
grey.

into the hole

Into the hole

sanitized, I enjoyed the ride
slow and unhurried,
I closed my eyes.
dreams of swordfish
sprinklers,
and
lines.
plow trenches
 in my mind.
a lazy cruzed car ride,
my eyes crashed
inside.
neon nights,
heat pasteled,
by the summers
lights.

pickled potatoe

eat a pickled potato.
prickle a nickle plated pillow.
apalgro,
constalatio,
human turnips lined up in a line,
studying the mishaps of easter island.
Performing.
strange.
misanthropic.
syncopated fellatio rituals.
once again said,
eat a pickled potato.