Rooms devoid of light

wind up the
             harmonic
blades  fundamental to
our vibration memory

vultures sitting on propeller
fern trees
                drooping over skid row alleys
of future LAs

a chronicle of walking without
shoes
           played on repeat
rewound in VCR type

static board and frayed

the aftermath pre-
recorded      for laughs

perfect symmetry

overtone of darkness
paints the sidewalk black
invisible cigarette butts
in invisible hands

only the broken teeth
tear the page

lost in rooms devoid of
light in almost readable text

total blackout last breath

life memory prior to the end

We're getting there on two good feet

into this sea of gray--pulling on thin
strips of leather cut by irradiated knives
hung from squeamish clouds acid rain
acid rain think globulus melting pots
plop plop drifting over straight-lined
states of green fibrous inaction--yet to
accept dreary blood caked worlds
of cratered beaches and swimming
needles--into this--motion of waves--
rip tides yank mothers from their graves
and children with dead hands cry cry--
sea of--meaningful glances hard features
metallic ribbons for searching eye candy
spells--gray--misdemeanors in the cold fog
Saturday cartoon mornings screeching
voices in the technophemeral clouds--
dusk dust of shelves lissen lists of dead
bodies still shuffle to voting halls spout
part lined sinewy drawls--heavy heaving
feet--into--an afterthought--this sea of--
wherein lies an overabundance of callous
vultures with beady hateful chilled--gray--
carving beaks and talons and carrion
stinking like bloomed flowers in the
Colorado mine water flowing spring air
opaque mountain streams of cold sewage
feeding feeding flooding a great well has
sprung a great leaking ship sorry sorry no
sorry more think crusty thick innocuous
black oil for the gills and throats of peace
sifting to the grassy brown bottom of the
sweet smelling corpse of the noose--bands
of legs in marching order shift body splat
mind goose wings in combat suits chanting
touching their noses heh heh he heh mark
these guidestones in glory georgia proper
the thin inky line of drip the needle flip
walk with me--into this--

Pointing to the Past

photographs

sepia framed
2D reality

singular vision
single perspective

still images of the
viewers past/
voyeurs present

lost to futures
on hard drive/usb/
attic boxes/funeral
posters/remains
without context

taken in flash
split second
juggled through hands
ingested by the
panopto-nostalgic eyes

Nothing Ages

From many sides and pieces
we move like refracted light
in transparent spaces between
now and future past perfect tense

an arrangement of letter
into word obituary likeness

now, then! only this remains,

something that was said, immortalized,
can be forgotten,

this is easy and often happens,

there is no other way
we must force tho we rage
we must access the tumble
and smoothing aspects of time
accept loss, accept being lost

in one hundred years
there will be no memory
of us having walked the
earth, there will be no flowers
to mourn,

there will be nothing to hold on to.

fortune teller

boxes stacked upside
down from heaven facing
earth like pyramid corpse
clouds of the infinite
sinking extra-dimensionally
into blue globed linear space
time limited vision reality
speaking in splintered images
they rupture the earth:

I
the past can be pointed to from all sides

II
every photograph we have
of ourselves show faces painted on
paper film skin

III
the future is an endless tidal wave never to break

Search Operation

in form
they come slobbering
repeat s 
blistered hands
hard smell of water
mucus foot fungus
end of existence
expunging last remnants of
free thought they wait on
edge of galactic inter-internet
cybernetic waves AI inevitability
classified in the concrete walled
sepulchre of internal compu-time
there's a word operator running
funneling remaking AND it's
enemy free search expression OR
un-directed musing
finder's keepers
failing
features
certified futures
in the filing cabinet mazes
of alphabetical thyme.

They're singing this now

a new genre of
death explored

cryogenic brain
freeze corporatized
opinion

hands up don't shoot

c'mon man I'm already
submitting

goes mouth
vocal cords
nightstick
gun trigger
teeth
blood

autopsy reports,
like didn't Pynchon
talk about this same
god damned thing
in Watts?

count side-wise
from CNN to Fox
to--get it?

this is a test of
the moderately
dissimilar opinion,
if this weren't a
test we'd #hegemony

now now kids
santa's watching
he just looks a bit
different, we've updated
for this technologic age

gone are old things
and obesity, same
with bearded
white males,

we've revamped the
whole process, added
cameras at each
street corner

so we
know if you've
been naughty or
nice before you've
even been--

Now I'm stealing titles

tossing them on floors
with the rest of the shit
that won't stick on the walls,
won't go anywhere,
doesn't belong anywhere.
I'm stealing titles
wrecking my keyboard
tearing up the keys,

I don't type so fast anymore,
I've noticed I have less to say--

I'mrunningdry--

looking anywhere for a deeper
go-between for a score,
in the meantime I'll play
the literary break-in,
employ the thieves,

much has been written about me
in the future,

a big name--

I've seen it--

just don't know if I'll make it there
before I'm gone.

So, this is where we've ended up?

these halls are rare everyday halls
wielding pitchfork meant to stick
in our backs,
                     they draw hot, pink blood,
birth flashes and implant false memories.

this is all you
will ever be
it has been
decided.

be quick on your feet,
we operate in pockets of
immateriality drowning
each moment,

"society is dependent on
ego-protection," she
said to me, as she walked
off the platform into
oncoming trains,

the officer at the scene
told me not to think too
much about it, grasping
my wrist, doctors offered
me pills, wrote my
visions down before
devouring them.

I wiped my shoes at the front door,
faint sounds and echoes in the red brick
alleyway adjacent,
                              murmurs without time or place,
 crumpled soldiers returning from imaginary wars.

Watch television on your phone

screens lined up,
they pace behind,
dressed in army
fatigues threads
of net neutrality,
listen! Hammer
pulled back,
click of old rusted
metal (we forget how
reality feels) slam,
a sickening life-like
sound, gun--shatters
over mute settings,
ringing fiber-
optic nightmare
one by one prisoners
lurch forward
brain matter anti-matter
spilling on granny
elevator floors,
a million tv audiences
cry out and silence,
sound travels slowly
so we all type out--

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

they've got models
living in camera-ed rooms
filling screen time,
Hollywoodland time,
reality mojo,
through inner-tube
highways broadcasting
their life force across
miles and cityscapes into
your unlit living room
everyone showing
white sad walls,

you can't help
thinking is that how
we live

but you
can't think it,

it's not allowed,
it's just sex and I'm the star she
says before she takes
out her dick
and before you realize
you've made it to the
wrong room,
made it with the wrong girl,
she's got the gun out
from behind her
cybernetic overcoat
and this window
is gone too,

the virus has evolved
language and pictures
aren't safe

the global village is a lie

it's an execution
of the soul

7,000,000,000 views
7,000,000,000 likes

click to view.

Spider Bite

tightness in my chest, paranoia of closing
throats, ebola virus, georgia guide stones
agenda 21,
head spins, breathe quickens I have nowhere else
to direct my thoughts, videos peering like
hulled out eyes, little snippets of time and
I wonder what is going on beyond
its edges?
scratch my neck, becoming difficult to
see, think, hear, operate, this must be it,
just in time, trucks, painted black pull up
brakes squeaking, soldiers pouring out
like thick oil spilling from back unloading ramp
*stomp**stomp**stomp*
the past age, the oncoming age
railroad, river, road cut off, no currents,
I see myself buried in mass plastic grave,
this must be the time, this must be it,
I knew, I think I knew it, it's hard to say now
my head beating like their boots on the stair,
door kicks in any second, swollen throats,
children crying, I am crying, silently
there are no prayers left, shower curtains rattle,
they'll check there first, that's what they'll do,
then come for me,
then come for me.

Rejections Incoming

Spinning out
the idea dimension
radical thought process
95% bio-engineered material
GMO-sync-pop-synthetic
afterlife chemicals
breathe in DMT-fibers
colored rooms comes
rainbow armies bitter
sworded hacking at
severed limbs,

it's the future man,
the art apocalypse
a dreaded turn--it's
all they ever feared
paint chips on the brain
rotting palets, dreams--
and nobody has a clue
which genre it all fits in--
labels are shattered,
broken homes, legs
trudge, wandering free
from upper body
exploitation--

appetite--

there's freedom in
each of the four
corners of space
a mobius square
mapped and re-examined--

their numbers, uncountable--

they scream
and buildings like
civilization fall--

one step ahead forever--

writ in time--

the old women
on Jupiters 4th moon
dressed in rags,
her husband, long
dead was known to
say,

at best
they
leave
no
survivors

Sci-Fi Pome

New/olD
transmissions
innerspace tech
ringing ear/
phones/
resemble/burnt
out hulls
ships scuttled
in the asteroid belt

this way out/
law/they're on to
bury you/out to
have your booted
feet swing

over the dead dreary/
evening heads of
watching crowds
saturn's system
titan bounding
standing/still

launch escape
ring around
the moon

bounce comlink
off business satellite
bridges covered in
commercials disguised
as grafitti splashed
in Venus tomato juice

it's about women

the adds/going off
like rocket space
sextapes--

ancienT/Young
bones/flesh/
outer space shells
fully evolved madness
link consciousness
send souls through
spatial recognition
camera spread seed
'cross time stream
multidimentional platform

it's how we make it
as a thought-species

ring through sustainable
dwarf stars--radio lies--

humble marisian vagrants
hitching/ rainbow ruins

stellar-aftermath

Future/pasT/
confuse all words
are one word something
like a quote from before

remember when there
were roads, little one?

Neither do I.

Idiot

I felt a merge
dimensional shift

watch you can
see myself
take the glass
ease a sip

but I am one
head tumbling
forward in time
left back
leaving
himself on
my own

my seed takes
its place in
parricidal agonizing
necessity or it
is nothing--but is it, and
can it be nothing?--
a wonder of the spatial
age, consequential
tumescence and
Asexual breeding,

we have the perfect boy

he is a time machine
quantum spermal generator
he stretches

big bang to entropy

has seen ever toilet
in the galaxy

is a right shithead
and genius of the stars

I am the beginning and
end of line
a lifetime dreamstate
functioning on borrowed
mass--

stand at edge
3 D space
laid out culling wind
lead shift into place
eyes rewind click
clack click snap

moving again now
one minute one second
at perfect intervals
he tries to remember
what it was like
watches clocks
without hands.

Indigestion

pick up my words on the internet
on the digital sound corner
html stained to resonate
w/ the meme soul

I sold all my ink
to make a living
melted it down for junk,
I mean, take in this battery heat
death is the fiber optic dynamo
running under our feet,

monitor brain needs city sunset
skylines to blow--

a fixed metaphor sub-space context,
the consensual state orgasm-mechanism
rolls down martial law suburban
streets at dusk, warnings on milk cartons,
milk carton joy, words downloaded
by the great Bodhisattva TOR
the mainframe diabetic
shrunken head search engine;

no gods! No gods!

I'm wired for the future,
all veins and hatred,
isolated,
gurgling singing laughing
mistakenly, giggling
on upset space-time collapse

our god is a cloud
a cloud is massed information
is untouchable reality
is subjective truth.

Jump!

Momma I'm lapping the
birds on the way down
watching the ledges and
counting the dark curtains
on the cellophane walls,
I'm tired of walking on the
streets robots, and me
being one of them, building
more robots for future
generations of surrendering,
we can be martyrs for the truth
I could swear it casting off
these shackles that you can't
see so why not believe they
don't exist? Because because
it's harder to trust the creeping
black acne of the skull-mind-
intuition--
we could see what I/we see
it would be blasting off sparkling
endless dreams, it would be truth
of the eternal stars, it would be
motionless eyes forever
grinning
baby
grinning

Downcast

God

feeds 

the 

sharks

chumming

the 

ocean 

waves 

with 

blood

and

language

and

ships

propellers

that

drag

us 

down

deep

drag 

us 

down

where 

we 

can 

no 

longer

see

no 

longer 

retain

our

individuality

the sharks feed blindly on our bones

after we're gone 

A wonderful world and a burning airship

I'd be dreary on canned heat in
the world that used to pound against
our temple doors, the images screened
on our shaved ugly heads like polished
heretic television screens beaming,
screaming if only we'd admit it's

over over over over
over life over eternity over
paranoia over all ended
over thankfully god awfully over--

the world wavering
like a top without substance,
filled joyously, hard won cold horror
brilliance,

I'd scrape my hands through the weeds
and dry dirt and pebbles and dust
shoving it repeatedly down my throat
growing hoarse feeling my thoughts ebb
thinking ah ah ah--eh--

a wonderful job tonight, a wonderful job
on and on repeated

Postage

Spanish in background--the northern lights
are burnt into CME sky tonight--somewhere
--where--it's not very cold--I'm
waiting, the sunset was cold embers
and cola burning, bright--it's getting
on to be--scary--or dark or--
and there's a quiet that drifts west
a quiet they're taking away--a--
I can't write about it or I'll be on those
FEMA trains--concentration trains--
cattle trains--Agenda 21, the future,
the road, the wilderness, the mountains
without beginning--the rivers dried up
but flowing beyond our sight--the ghost--
razor wire--demons--my angel reeling
a cold song bleeding--naked and
staring at gas chamber walls, shower
head, chilling floor--we are
at an--end--we deny it

With/Without Our God

The past feeds on itself,
ink burned pixels
cutting around fleshy steel
and we act unscathed
with these magenta wounds
that shift and bleed
like some doctor strange
psychedelic fantasy,

watching the eye of agamotto
trapezing, tumbling
legs over head
falling through this arching
nowhere, dizzy with
hunger,

rain nodding irreverently,
kneeling toward the sky
and praying to find peace
on the ground,
the earthy brown-green
moist crushed ground,

where we walk underneath
the treading feet of
gods long pretend-forgotten,
their wishes too heavy to
acknowledge,
one scowl and the mountains burn
purple-blue, mouth preaching
stern, love-

Adjacent to heaven
we plant our flag
of atheists open-minded
and fleeing the truth,
quoting the blackness of space
through the uninspired beginning,
Our god demanding the sacrifice
of art, love, poetry,
we gladly give away
trading weight for peace
longing for forgiveness,

Place your hand on my forehead,
fever burns with memories
collective memories
laid to waste, blistered by fiber-optic cables
and golden finches,
fed to death with designer cheese
and television sets,

make room for your coffin,
pretentious in death and life,
tear down the walls of belief
for an indulgently clean conscious,
because you found the loop-holes
left all over this text book,
written in the heady ink of
philosophical-hypocrisy,

I hear it raining and
Oh, I know the outcome,
we can be obsessed with magic together,
I'll access the wikipedia to find out how,
then grovel at its inane alter,
one click away and 30 keys,
type faster to measure
the size of your reproduction,
on your miniature screen avatar fantasy,

I hear facebook calling,
it's interactive and concrete,
Although it's not free-
to
watch,
and juggle your response,
google already knows what its going to be,
so it has some suggestions for you, me, us,

So choose 1,2,3,4,5,6,7
what your god asks, demands
without demanding,
you'll gladly go to war for free,
as would I,
by design, all the variables met,
the clever turn,
the acceptance of nothing,
the entrance to the machine
the diffuse eyes and ears and wand,
poking at our bodies,
feeding tubes and remote controls,
the inbred tv guide
grasping our last sexual urge,
browsing the instant queue,
and determining our dreams.