Kind of
Acid jazz deteriorates my psyche
acridly, bitter tinges pluck the soles
of the flying shoes of my head;
waves of pure water,
not that kind of purified water but pure, naturally natural, teeming with microbes
wash through me like I am a t-shirt
ruffled, swirling in a washing machine
the kind of water that scurries up shores past tidal territory markings
floods houses, drowns pets, inundates gardens of Eden and tomatoes;
waves of pure fire,
not the kind of fire in your fireplace that smokes like a surreptitious cigarette at your chimney
but the kind of fire that burns in your eyes
when fear and flusteration provoke intensity
the kind of fire that bursts through membranes
rages through forests, pillages with nihilistic desire,
glaringly higher, these flickering flames are not rational nor intellectual
they are opinionated and have subjectively declared anarchic nihilism their concept of choice
but instead of scientifically proving the axiomatic truth of the existence of nothing and only nothing
they seek to alter conditions by destroying all that is something so that nothing is more easily proved;
waves of wind,
not the mere breeze
that beckons depressives
to jump from windowsill altitudes
to terminate their story by dropping stories
to crash concrete
to become one with the holy mother of the universe
but rather the kind of wind that occasionally rides through air
and masterly whips all oxygen into a lustrous tornado
that sucks up & abducts all innocent young girls
into the depraved world of hallucinogens, witchcraft, Pink Floyd worship, surreal voyages and multitudes of midgets;
waves of earth,
ruptured and rising
crackling and despising
all who fail to slip thru
the crevices created
the asscracks of the earth
from which libidinous lava and steamy ash will spew
interminably, until offerings
fall into the beckoning prostate and appease the centrifugal gods;
waves of blue,
not necessarily the color, which is only one station
in the rainbow wavelength and visionary visceral spectrum
not necessarily the feeling, which is too polar, too biased
--but hey—did you ever wonder?
if something is biased…
is it bi-assed?
How many asses have you?
inquired the ostrich of the emu
and the emu replied,
“together we have two
unless we converge siamesely
attached and sealed at the anus,
at which point we have none,
Hence:
it is good to work together
but risks the surrendering of individuality
and certain doom,”
and so the ostrich and the emu decided
to diverge, lest they be rendered
anatomically & eternally constipated
and because of this they shall never fly
but only squawk and flap until their days flutter to the past
amazing, their eggs so big, yet worthless
perhaps one day their squawks
will mathematically collide
and produce rhythmic resonance
structurally recondite, but aurally prurient
and cosmically ebullient;
waves of pure music