Oh my flesh twists
into the deep external
radiance of morning
Chill out with sighs and highs
Of speckled feature films
Twice overturned in Greenwich Village
With bubble tea and hippies slapping
Garbage to call it 'music' as sound
Waves distort into their Ear Drum
Taut smile and creased lips,
Eyelashes pointing downward
To the sunken epileptic feet of the
Homeless- dwindling past airways
And airwaves current(ly) accepting
Any stagnant stench it encounters:
Mostly newborn

My children vomit often
On prime night and
Birthday Party convenience
How I'd love to break into
The conjunction juncture
Of Junk, toil in the redeeming
Skepticism of intellectuals,
Bathe in the anachronisms of
Comedians and laugh when
I am supposed to-
To cry at shrieking aunt
When she yelps the sepulchral
Needs of my grandmother
(Who we refer to in euphemism)
A clear but deformed,
"She didn't want this!"

Something soulfully saddening
About techno masterminds
Locked in the scape, withal
The righteous and godly,
The blank-faced, the pallid
Mongers feeding off crevices
Wholly catatonic, singular
Bearing surface scars and
Superficial sacramental wounds
Seeping puss in hebdomadal increments
On The Day of Rest
What else is holy, we say
The banal accompanying marked
Consistencies, totality in everything
That applies:
Ruthless, Jarring Savage, Ethereal-

Alive! Good, gracious
If we can savor the ephemeral
And offend them all to no end
Disassemble the image-locks
And myths perpetrated too
Far in the splits and seems
Of life, love and relationship,
Wrack metaphor to reveal
Itself stark naked standing alone
On the street corner
Under the waning crescent moon
Vulnerable, guilty, without
Shadow or shame
Then therein lies possibility-
Beauty, madness laying
Tranquil on the rolling hills of chaos
I have been there several times before
And what a sight it is