like fragmented thoughts
hushing onto the cement
swirls
of whirled
rainbow spills
in the puddles of parking lots.
Cigarette butts
and belated fucks
exploded into seas of light and excretions
Back cocks
and pickup stops
for no apparent reason.
There is somebody standing in my door
with a white toothed grin
winking, suspiciously
sardonically
and cracking whips of glory
against the blood splattered bathroom mirror.
"It's raining outside."
"I know."
"Come here."
"No."
"I want you. I love you. I need you."
The carpet writhes in likeness
and the sky turns a chalky black
when the rain drops
like fragmented thoughts
like crytals in the sunny window
like crytals in the sunny window
like dribbles of the sea
and sand
that spread out like wings
into the park and cause this wind
that puts out the flame.
Deep in this dark cave
the Sun spins like a super nova
the grass was wet and diamond
the sky was bright and blue
the faces flesh of blood and bone
of what we all call real and soul
and pens on paper, spurting semen
call to me in secret voices and tells me things
with angels wings
and I cry with other faces
because I have no wings
and they have no wings
and we have no wings
and I feel sympathy for DeVincci
and for Shakespear
and Satan
and I feel sorry for Jesus
and for The Beatles
and for the man who is always in the background.
But, I do not know them.
and I talk about them
like they're here in the room
but they're not
and somewhere they are angry
because they have no voice to me
and they have nothing but thought within me
and thought count for very little
and are like the rain that drops
in lets
and falls
and splatters and runs together
but, it's all just water to you and everyone else.
It's all just water to the pontificator
and the know-it-all
and the psychologist.
But, when the rain falls on you
you open your umbrella and you walk to your cars
tripping over swirling rainbows
and high heeled shoes.
Smiling and waving to windows and friends.
"Call me!"
"When? Around 8, okay?"
"Yea! Sure!"
And it falls into the
distance.
With the cactus
and the plateau
where I never stood but dreamt about in my most orange dreams
very orange dreams and sometimes red
and always very bright
and I awake to biege cielings with waterstains
like angels
and I awake to the smell of wetness and dead children
and I awake to the touch of a carcass long dead
but still twitching.