The sudden rush of gold-lipped lickers on sickening twisted gut-punching benders
howl-tripping through lit-wicked so fickle and slick monsters from gurgling pockets suspended
from death-dug trees in between gnarled knees bent and broken and bent into dirt now mending
on the sorrow hearth O’Berowning once moaned and said “mirth, give me mirth” he blended
into the furrowed forehead of this amazing blazing self-hazing century
this fantastic spastic orgiastic century
this incredibly inedible multi-syllable century
how wonderful to splendourful menderful benderful…
Would you sit and just, would you sit and just listen,
just close your lips and listen
just shut your mouth and listen
close every damned orifice and listen
it may kill you
it may kill us all
because I will tell it all to you
I will tell you all
all of it will come from my lips and it will move silently and with focus and the deepest sadness and it will open up crevasses in your mind that you had forgotten about or just never knew existed and it will begin to beat out a rhythm so viciously vibrant so painfully personified that mental asylums will dance on your grave and spit on your children and wander with great bricky-mortary steps through our future graveyards and daffodils will be shat upon and blood-red memories will be surgically removed and forgotten because of what you know.
Because of what I know.
Because of what I told you.
Because you know all.
This is the greatest weekend bender…
I will tell you all just come and sit
just sit down and let me tell you all.
I will tell you all about earth and life and death and man and woman and human and beast.
But you have to burn all your bridges
because I will tell you all.