bowel obstructions (and other family roadwork)

I feel the weight of the weird

and the strength of sad weaklings

as I crawl through the alleys

of childhood dreams.

----


I arise to the noises

of garbagemen retching

and I yearn to be trashed

until numb to the numbskull I've been and become.

----

Yesterday's misery

is mailed to tomorrow

as time disappoints me

once and again.

----

I'm malaise bloomed incarnate

in Kafkaesque shit storms,

drenched in digestion

of booze battered lineage.

----

I'm swamped in the ethos

of failed adolescence,

bathed in the strychnine

of putting up appearances.

----

I'm the muck that I'm stuck in,

cut on shiny shards of family

through the deep shag of sick

and the avocado bygones

of disco sad psychosis,

shot past present tenses

that haunt all my tomorrows

like an out of style spectre

cursed with everlasting shame.

Stone Cold Insomnia ('05 Summer Delirium Dreams)

I feel cold.

Another August daylight is fast approaching

but I'm oblivious to time

just as sleep finds no purchase

in any of my remembrances,

as the drip drop of sink filth

wets the toothpaste caked porcelain.

Dawn's noises outside are muted,

echoing emptiness nonetheless.

Or are they simply my disease

projecting out onto the street?

Stillborn, I starve on starlit sunrises

with world-weary pizza,

too drunk to dream (too cheesed to notice).

Too numb to scream.

But I do.

And I feel.

Cold.

Straining through the condensation,

a summer drizzle of freezing sweat

steaming down my spine.

*******

Can I have fries with these shakes?

The Unbearable Lightness of Beefheart

Captain Beefheart

copped me the keys to an asylum wonderland,

noise akimbo staccato.

Bestowing rosy crows

of joyous madness

juxtaposing rhythms

just as weird and wired and right.

To ramshackle his aura

in full aural angst

is to play a game of twister

with porcupines and power lines.

Please buck your instincts

and appreciate this terrible beauty

through prisms askew

surrounding you on terms unnerving,

from your tongue to your toes

as the free range octaves

whisper down your blind side.