smiths

i was a wrought iron boy sculpted pissing in the corner of the yard;
you were a vagrant's destination, unfilling yet gorgeous from afar
beams of light create heat upon my flesh, the raindrops rust my exposed genitals
you're smiling now, i sense that, its rude but you convey it so smart and cordial

like tobogganeers on ice pulling reins too hard to control,
we slid fast together toward the valley steady and unsure
you're smiling now, i sense that, its too hard to control
naked and supine on frozen tundra laughing 'what was any of this for?'

meaningless, cold, exposed, and broken
wrought iron boy plead be awoken

slideshow champion

mercurial swatches of glowing face flash like slideshow fast-forwarded and blurred. i sit pounding tracking button upward, jackhammer precision. its all static, its all blurred and senseless. everything is senseless yet the senses are everything.

smile, sweetheart, toothy masquerade iron cutaining bloody truth reptile scales.

through static: traces of unbreakable optimism formed from clouds of skepticism and doubtful rain.

it rains on me. the clouds loom. fuck your optimism. turn off the projection screen, slideshow champion.

synapse blankets two or more, plurals as singulars, all is one and all is together, despite physical distance and perceptual complex. oars, biceps; come to me in legitimate practice. cataclysm withhold, i love and i need you sometimes and never.

death come ripping

submitted to some magazine about the end of the world, or something. maybe ill have some information about this later, who knows.

anyway:

"the human mind will be the basis for catastophic eclipse. the prophets perched on cerebral pedastal plot and plan
endless regurgitate vessels from the sea of philosophical shit-spew. i lean forward to vacuum the dirty melody of the
oracle orchestra and fixate my eyes on megaphone, microphone, magazine, movie theatre. in the wake of newfound knowledge,
infantile beings will claw over mountain edged fire pit, captain vomit, abandon ship. all is lost for all is found. the steeple-chests
clasp to rosary reasoning, biblical flood, an ark will not save us.

i hold knowledge to myself. i tape my mouth twice over with the innards of blind, deaf, and dumb. i feel their spirit merge
with mine and merge with yours. instead, i bottle ignorance and sell it tenfold to the masses. what you do not know
and what you do not prepare for will not hurt you or create convuluted psyche. cognition: positive outlooks, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,
happy thoughts, positive outlook, happy thought, happy thought...

shut your fucking face, and close your fucking almanacs, and let the batteries die in your fucking calculators!
gaze upward with wonder and endless hope. the hole in the atmosphere is merely a window. look for a beacon, not a storm.

peace and love,
stephen patrick dawson"

shape

the life of the fire flickers in scented artificial breeze a millionfold over. absinthe glow and hair wash warmth to delineate divine resurrection from hope for something -- anything. waxy hands twice coated flake and fracture in the wake of hammerhead conjecture. touch my teeth with your tongue and pretend it never happened. it never happened. nothing happens.

illusive state through mysticism project twice removed from fraternal epidermis existence myth.

leave me to my own regards and i will cultivate impromptu nothing choreography from endless fields of nowhere.

crop

shucking holy maize in demon infest farmland. crop crop crop crop crop me out of mind.

blossom, earthlings. i have faith in thee...

starflesh

lives reduced to fiery hydrogen/helium orbs of metaphysical matter. to discern infallible introspection do not look within, look without. two eyes closed the third opens. see all and transcend. pineal sensation to indescribable clarity. shaman, cleric, your cloak is not a cloak.

streaks

stranger visage in streaks and smears dance around peripherals. i ascend to the far corner of the room and stare blankly at the ant-esque heads nod knowingly of being watched in a way not so supernatural.

spiritual purging of excess innards in a drab gray room on a drab gray day onto drab gray floor cemented over as a proper burial ground to previous self. epitaph as such: restless eternal and bound to haunt

seven sided

breaking the threshold of astral projection relives sleeping birth pain recollection. you by the cosmic fire, us by the sea. do our closed eyes see what our open eyes cannot? will we dance on the seem of the fabric of space-time?

lo and behold, an inner light revealed to myself. i want to show you, but save that gore and mess.