paper stacks and cocaine lines

on the crest of a wave that roams and fades,
the children crack smiles to let us know that nothing lasts forever.

to be one of us, to have this disease, to hold it inside,
to be real and bleed,
we blend into the world as the days go counting by.

they say we're disinigrated bits of living matter,
but i don't know if that's for certain.

my eyes are globes in constant motion
with blood vessels roads are always broken.

i don't think that anyone can navigate,
let alone come home alive.

let us bathe in the sea of dreams that we don't have,
and we will was away the rest of our organics.

they treat us like we're not human,
we're all just damaged goods.

tres.

she's barely there,
no eyes to speak of.
she's dark, expressionless,
bleak.
early mornings, something's wrong.
all my books are long since gone.
i sealed them all in a cardboard box,
and still she's barely there,
barely hanging on.
if i lift up a candle and stare upon her eyes,
the arc upon the edge of the earth, is lost in them.
i am lost in them.
she fades in and out of focus,
as i hold my candle near the draft.
all my books are bound in boxes,
screaming for me to take them back.
and as i gaze into her open eyes,
i am swallowed.
i am consumed.
i am taken aback by the blunt vulgarity
by which she continues to consume me.

__________________________________________________

let the clocks tick down and hold,
all the silver all the gold.
let the whores run and try to take it back.
if i slip out of conciousness,
and i'm altered down into a mess,
let me know if someone's coming in after me.
hold the phone, kill the phone,
hold me, but don't kill me.
wrapped in sheets, tightly splayed,
across this city, across these scapes.
these escapes are once in a liftetime.
these cityscapes won't rise again.
let the clocks tick silver and gold out of our grasp.
we have no need tonight.

______________________________________________________

i've realized, that in my eyes,
i don't mean anything to anyone.
they're all stuck smiling, but deep down i know,
this is how it always goes when we're burried to our necks in snow.
the blankets cover every sound that tries to escape,
to bog me down.
and i've realized that in my eyes this is how it always goes.
i don't mean anything to anyone.
i don't know how it's gone this far.

healer.

i'm not much for the picture shows.
i go to places no one knows.
i shed my clothes, and walk around.
the world is my stomping ground.
i heal people free and clear.
touching their hearts, and removing their fear.
in the shadows of the desert plains,
the moonlight's dry and clear.
i am not much for picture shows,
but i know so much is clear.

let my mind reel like film
until the projector begins to burn,
cutting between shots of nordic clans
and outstretched hands, and shores they haven't settled.

in the windowless, expressionless, howling stretch of woods,
i lay down until this town is up and feeling good.
on the rooftops, where the rain drops,
i will lay naked and heal this town.

to hell with your insecurities,
to hell with your impurities,
to hell with sickness,
to hell with death.

i will touch your face and you'll live forever.

echo.

hip hip the pig hooves walk.
under stars the pig feet flop.
ah in the blink of an eye,
the pig alters his perception and so do i.
i hold it in these eyes until my horns start falling off.
focused on the blasting stars,
the stratosphere dissolves.
the pigs all squeal with delight.
nothing here is solved.
under alters,
slightly altered,
ink blot, smoke screen,
mushroom dot.
the sun lashes out and lapses about,
fading in and back out of the sky.
the pigs, they fly past jellyfish skulls,
melting down to human form.
chords they form, knotted and true.
cords they pull from me to you,
as we lead the pigs up through the sky,
the fading bells still ring.
an eye blinks again, as i come in for a landing.
the crystals drag through troughs of sin.
am i decieved, oh, am i dreaming?
this broken canyon laps me down through the cracks.

ruined.

you ruined everything for me;
all the birds and trees, and sounds.
i'd move mountains to see you breathe again,
but i can't live this world down.

superheated.

superheated, out of touch.
the people here don't talk too much.
grey skies, blue eyes, but none of it matters.
it's superheated and out of touch.
i lost sync with reality a few years back.
i'll let you know when i find it, or it finds me.
superimposed images of manequins breathing
dance around the streets in packs of ten.
i hope and pray to anyone's god they don't find me again.
i'm superheated, out of touch.
everything is melting in my hands.
to have and to hold doesn't mean a damn thing.
it all trickles away like sand.

no chance.

i'm cracked, dry, and bloody.
the streets are all muddy.
the rain and the dirt become one.
is there an option to take?
the stars fade away, and the moon's gone to play
with the cherubs and guardians of lore.
i sit cracked, dry, and bloody.
my back is all muddy.
this is what nighttime is for.
i wish away everything.
i close my eyes tight,
and i let it envelop me.
i think no harm should come,
but if it does, what option is one to take?
the moon's gone away, and the stars didn't stay.
the sky's expressionless now, just like me.

costa rica.

what is on the other side?
is it fortune,
fame,
pure cocaine.

can i live it,
and breathe it,
and be it,
or see it?

what is one the other side
of this bridge i have yet to cross?

i'm sure it's nothing more than what i think,
but i can't help but dream.
what's across the arching bridge
that shoots across the stream.

the faintest blips of troubled lips
pressed to the water's edge...