ahh summer nights
too hot to sleep
too hot to dream
it’s too fucking hot to write
yet here i am
sitting in front of a loud
and ineffectual fan
sipping warm whiskey
smoking my last cigarette
and conducting desperate rituals
under the pale light of this familiar screen
i shot for the moon
and missed by a stubborn blue mile
i’m a soft pirate
creative and neglected
trying to capture the hearts
of liberated machine creatures
i want to wander this simulated wilderness
driving mad under rich grey skies
in search of erotic mystery
and unusual adventures
but smooth poetry is a lie
real life is much more coarse
like grazing on sharp grass
with rough beasts
and though i preach that hippy light and love
i’ve been called a dick more than once
i’m crafted from spiritual waste
and i’m sick of this one way game
i’m anxious and complacent at the same time
i want glorious copulations
in a dubious garden of luscious independence
floating nude, slow and righteous
under a multitude of muted stars
with sixty-six rounds of lust
grasping quiet limbs
and waiting for the next
agnostic, cosmic vibration
confused and spitting slow profanities
and prophetic illusions
we reach for lingering affairs of submission
and those who are truly insane
choose to forget the mental relics
that define our papier-mâché souls