Our sheer mania
makes us colossal
and teetering.

Always on a razor’s
edge of a beam of light.
Always almost about to
either land on greatness
or topple over and fall
into an endless desolation.

It is as much
invocative
as lurid.

Leprous skin falling away
from itself in rotten
heaps and ooze
(The pitiful skeleton beneath
is doubtless and revealed
in soft ruthless and casual
shards of dripping flesh,
stinking sick organs).

Her routine included
throttling her dance pole
w/her long naked legs
and she bounced & gyrated
on it like a fuck.

The shaft ran between her
ass cheeks
& often, like now,
she’d become truly aroused.

Scars are forever
and you will find them
still there
where they’ve always been,
bleeding a glorious radiance.

But no matter,
for All is light
so there is no darkness,
only the agonizingly slow
birthing illumination
that we profit most
from humility and
generosity.

By the way,
did you know common
household cleaning products
are sufficient to make
highly volatile explosives?

All you would need
is an electrical charge
(an hideously subtle laugh-
low and thick- fills the room
from somewhere our eyes
just won’t seem to observe).

If Heaven met you,
what would It think?

An infinitude of possibilities
and the possible
and impossible consequences
of them all.

Contained in flesh-
(That’s the Good news.
The Bad news is this includes
the terrible consequences, too).

-“Yeah, the ones that really get ya
and make you wish shit was different.

How else would we learn, I suppose.

Someone had to freeze to death
before we’d realize we needed
to clothe and keep warm our
very vulnerable skin.

-“Yeah, man, ‘cause when the fan’s
spittin’ it all back at you,
you’re only trying to do one thing.”

Yeah, what’s that?

-“Get the hell out of the way.”

Who are you talking to?

Well, okay. I’ll shut up then,
but the flow can never be
dammed up or restrained
or diluted for we will each
arrive at our own eternity
of sea and sun where it is
our ornate intermingling
which blinds and dazzles
and can never fade.

My friends,
a natural and most knowing
Providence aligns with and spans
the numberless millennia of
expanses so that every fiber
of being and each experiential
wonder of joy and ecstacy
and wisdom becomes a
throbbing rhythm and breath
of the Inspiration.

Indeed, the stars are pairs
of God’s favorite angels
pirouetting against the fine
and wondrous fabric & skin
of the monstrous and
beautiful child which is
called Creation.

Yet, tell me this:
If people weren’t meant for
Violence, how come our hands
can become fists?

Being prodigies of Nature,
nothing can be w/out its
design nor its organically
measured utility
(-Deadening the impact’s p.s.i.
comes from the shoulders).

We are sweating and barbaric
fiends in the machinations
of our blasphemous and very
sweet unholiness and we are
ruled and mob rules w/absurdity
and lunacy and stark pursuits,
saving no one and deceit,
per diem.

Resident Iniquity,
the hallowed song is an orgy
of ruin and despair and shrieking
agony and sorrow and torment
and Celeste can only listen
in silence to the maw and horror
of the sensuous cannibals
and children of night.

Can our prayers truly be discerned
and heard through the hideous
moans of the screaming morass
which is murder and desire
and debauchery and delight?

And certainly, when all your
fates end in fires, there is an
appearance of new necessities
on the waters of Lethe
and the only inevitability
left available is Chance.

Unfortunately, the odds
are devastatingly against you.

Oh, howling and crippling
chorus, let alone the sodden soul.

An infernal devouring blesses
or destroys you.