point blank insurrection
riding words of
forest green depression
magicians misaligned
explosion of
spirit and mind
turbulent tomes
enshrined then
redesigned

observation in
abstract meditation
hurried
then setback
waiting for release

the living room is littered with
empty glasses and old poetry books
nothing better to do than write
right the wrongs
of songs
sung out of key
in desperate harmony

my dog has finally submitted
to this urban wilderness
and my favorite symphony by mahler
is setting the trance
i want something dark to claim me
to enhance
this violet expanse

red wine
deep
like catholic blood
eating the bread
i remember the dead
and, the myths of my childhood
are slowing flowing through me

complicate
and then
hallucinate

madness
stretched out
like tasteless gum

in the vision i saw
bookstores like ancient temples
goblets and gardens
imaginary walls
lined with switches
and modified witches
seven flights of stairs
and minuscule tears
in folded brain matter

tables set
and then
dismissed
trepidation
percussive evangelist
as blank spaces
are suddenly filled with
eccentric head cases
rolling jedi mind tricks
under an inverted
test screen

relapse into morning
the coffee is heated and beat
and under an oppressive morning sun
as i forget the face
of that midnight pun

i like a fine point
better than a round edge
a page or two a day
a prayer or two away
from the inevitable end
that stems from
death of the male ego

this poetry is
a form of mad libs
and i’m not quite sure i dig
this new evolution

i carry notebooks and pens as weapons
in hopes of conjuring a rhyme that beckons
a myriad mistress of the moon
pagan movements
manipulated till they’re out of tune

and my tongue still craves the taste of wine and pussy