In a Sense

Where snowflakes fall heavier than moth’s wings,
And anxieties do set with sun, meltingly
Dutiless, without menace:
We shall be a flouredcent sea-slug,
A baby dragon eating blueberries; preconscious peacefulness – grace:
Sit on my lap and let’s create a story, no creeper, no power flex [fuck you david oldfield of del mar and all other names that taste of turdlike character, discompassion and mal intent]
I digress, those rat fucks:
malignnant scum on the depths of my wellspring: those slimey mohfuckers –
Our own solitary love, an ouroboros
Lemniscate, our roaring 20s, a hummer rolling on dubs in the 2000s (meet me in that emerald pool, in the hearst castle, if it all ends; I am there)
This parenthetical language, known only to winos and shamans; the elect,
Who live exiled, sexy, raw, exercising control, power of them selves only
Can more be asked for?
But they weild their swords, unpitiably, savage, like the ugliest Americans, oh capitalism buys a hell of set of blinders, don’t it –
So what, what they think – them bitches
It’s what you think that matters, fortress, brave beauty, babe, sanctum
Abide, love what is, Thou, Self
Cum, bless this day, Thee
Yung junebug, sun, lemonade, pellegrino
Bouncing yellow tantric jello in spine,
Fornicating with your mind:
But never fucking with mine
Breaking fourth walls, I hypnotize
Forgive me you ungrateful ones,
I tried, but was not thus equipped:
Though time is growing kinder to me,
And history, less forgiving to those whose boots I licked for a taste of my own soul,
Oh how naive I was – I almost hate myself for it;
But I happily exchange these burdens, trading in heartbreak for heartache –
And light of these shadows: wings do dry: fictions do become known, and these spores do spread gaily – without fear.

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