I Could Hear It When The Moon Collapsed On Broadway

Congealed, the masses writhe on the bright city streets. Maggots. The smell of burned popcorn and curried meats laced with the sweet cotton candy aroma of funnel cake shaped sewer-holes steaming with putrid wreak. Dozens of dialects and languages buzz white noise mosquito fights and the calamity is a sustained warm foam bath on a still hotter night. The crunch of pavement beneath my boots satisfies with every hard-heeled step. Unique ants of evolution with higher IQ's and lower aspirations. I am trapped in a trash heap of souls. I am alone among them and I am either preparing for the grave or success. Either way it looks the same from the bedlam.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hard. I hear them squish in their sockets. Full palette blooms splotchy. You can see with your eyes closed! I purge the spent breath from my lungs as if poisonous. Inhale deep the summer in the city.. the summer, in the city.

Asleep and dreaming? Everything keeps passing me by in swirling clouds of colorful dust, all dirty Carrickmacross Lace with millions of pinpoints alight in full spectrum, bodies rushing by transparent in their own purpose driven by free will. In rare moments of lucidity (imaginations) I realize that I am the stranger, a man out of his time.

"The trouble with dreams is they don't come true and when they do, they can catch up to you," whispers the hovering crimson cold above.

Red skies at night, oh, oh, oh, oh oh, oh oh oh

Suck My Lick, AnnaCronym

Resplendant in neons, blazing laser beams of lightning sparks in scorching pink, chlorophyll lime-green, nectarine orange, pool water blue, sunfire yellow and magic violet, dispersing in roman candle death. Sweat licks her thighs down from the creamy depths of a hospital gown brilliant white sundress. From the gritty cement, the view distorts upward. Fisheye lens of perception from the bottom. The beginning line. Cherry red heels cavort over me, stabbing between my ribs in jet mist geysers and for a moment, my heart flies at the brief glimpse of baby blue panties streaking scintillation over my face. Black out. Breaching horizons, the end surpassed. The starting gun is reloaded, drawn and pushing into my spine hard enough to bruise.

Werewolf Hologram

Magnanimous hemoglobin drenched fangs rend wormwood flesh with a slavering hostile mouth, the comet's tail glowing sapphires beneath furled brow. My mind in the stars, outside smog stained atmosphere, bathing in the chroma pestilence of the insurgent: supernatural sky-streamer H8. Alone, I am a pack to raze unchecked genocide, my bare naked razor grip is the clutch of gators death rolling to obliterate bones and sinew in baseball bat home run cracks on the 'greener on the other side' verge. A dancing feeding frenzy on the rat faced granny; the old hag that sits on your chest has transcended nightmare and in waking hours screams glass throat tirades of joy at your breathless anxiety gulps. The moonlight blue ice aurora watercolor brushes the chlorophyll in the strangled forest of my discontent in alien aquas. Rub in the blood spray with the friction of my frazzled mind. I am nude. My physique Slip N' Slides through the red hue mercy murder of cause and I'm playing in indigo patches; a confounded intelligent fish flapping through the ecstasy of liquid life. 

SLEEP TO VIVID DREAM
My home, the Empyrean. My heart, weightless. My enchantment, you. Your gaze is forever deep and flooded overflowing with infinity. Your smile redefines. We bathe in each other with brilliant diorama tinctures of planet engulfing spectacle; an aura colliding lightning storm. A dissipation of the insignificant aspects of others occurs and intoxicated, you are all there is. Shrugging off the confines of incinerating passion into a big bang realm of fevered lust, two rocketing astronauts pressed together in a mutual fascination magnetic G-Force, tongues intertwined, teeth biting sensual caresses on moist bottom lips. Kiss me for hours in wet raw osculations. Hands and fingers explore wanton terrain, pulling triggers to quickening heartbeats.
JOLTED AWAKE AGAIN

Agenda: hopscotch sui-sideways caterwauling jazz steps. Cavort. I will fucking sidestep self-death that was never mine. It has been the greatest lie. The aspersions you have cast are an unforgivable decrepit deceit upon the world. I killed you, Hag. The first mother, Fear. Your sisters are neither safe nor elusive. All of them, marked upon their hands. Invisibility becomes mirage and takes form. The fabric they wear is fabrication and every weak point is evident beyond clarity in the cobalt radiance of our perfect vision. Your family line, a heritage of destruction infecting the brains, throats, lungs, hearts and clammy cold shaking limbs of humankind is coming to an end. We move inward and outside the limits of your jealous precedence.  I am the reason barked commands from every soul in distinctive unique melodies on every harmonic frequency in unison. The dirge is being sung; soon the coda. Werewolf hologram roars a digital reaper howl, gutting all dimensions into the now. We are The Black Road. We are the monster in the shadows. What puts the fear into you, Mother Fear? We can never know. The deck is stacked and we move between all versions of eco-systematic possibility to Amber. We are celebrating in your corpse; buried forever and ever and ever. 

Amen.

Interplanetary Suicide (March of the In-CoHereAnts / Cloudburst of the InCoHere Ants)

I can't feel my hands, not really anyway. A million quasi-visible InCoHere Ants tusks pinching the cold bloodless surface of my clumsy mitts. Chilled sweaty clam palms. I finally took the gloves off because the bones were slipping around in the flesh sockets and now I'm laying across the destitute fractured roots of this Knowoak tree. Black dirt levitates around my helmet and I can see every pitch particle. I bet it tastes like poison sugar. The grains don't entirely obscure my view of what's left of the small moon, Suicide. I wasn't so much fleeing as I was putting my legs through the paces when the whole Gorramed thing blew apart like a Smartie Pop.

Butter Up Your Rigamarole

It was yesterday today. I stood in the jacuzzi of ancient power awaiting the first cleansing illumination of the blue sun, pondering the engulfing waterspout that birthed skyward and the sound of seafoam smashing the shore blew apart in a misty caress. My ears lingered on the fade out fizz of dissipating life. It sounded like the soothing whisper of a reassuring lover. "Shhhhhh."  A ghost. These pillars look like deformed arthritic fingers. A blue sun gives off a cool heat but the tingle of the fountain of youth drying on drinking skin still feels like sex. Don't drop the soap, asshole. Don't intend on dead breath while crooked smirk lips part in pandering enthusiasm. 

Don't remember how long it took me to notice. Time is like hummingbirds wings. Plucked out was my left eye on the altar. Sacrifice. A gift given to receive an ultimate awareness of self. More dichotomy. Lovely. A rainbow defecates gold on the world as the leprechaun kicks your shins while dancing. Woke up sleep drunk. I beat the answer out of a patron and released his soul from his girth fur shell. He roared, "It's somewhere in Deninbrass." The son of a bitch was a talking bear.

The bar is littered with the cracked shells of misfortune cookies. It's Just Not Your Day. The missing eye still sees. Surrounded by rich pricks and gorgeous voluptuous women looking for an easy break. They all smile. Not genuine though. Brittle bodies with ugly messages inside. Crack one open and find out. Nah. Not interested. It'd be like kicking an old dog because it's an old dog.  And I don't prey on the defenseless. Besides, they enjoy my company but don't want to admit it. My favorite look on their faces is the mixture of fuck me lust and embarrassment verging on pity.

I strike hard on the bar top and grind, a pestle and mortar fist, feeling the gravel crush of the patisserie liar. My face stays cold unemotional. My heart yawns with boredom. The Joke Is On You. Pour me another you side-mouthed silver tongue bastard of a barkeep and this time keep your slimy trunk nose off the bottle and out of my ass. Smells like pine and cedar in here but not up there. Someone strike up a tune and tickle those keys. Let's have a reverie. Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, life goes on, Brah. My drink arrives. It's a martini glass half filled with whiskey and sure as shit, alleviating my chagrin, my missing eye swims in it like a cobra. Hello old friend. We're off to Deninbrass tomorrow. It was yesterday today.