Wednesday, October 26, 2011



I've been reflected in all these ways for all this time and still I feel dejected rejected and malaise like a crown of heaven with such dire lightning bolts to spear the sky in a long pink dream, unused. postulated but unseen and never dripping down the clouds with the poison ink of unkind. humankind. it's a paradise like the living death of awkwardness. all I SEE are shades of pink and purple, and a small tequila sunset all amade of bluey green. that's the colour of a jaded rhum nirvana. everything in shades and angles. sunglasses and a tomb. just like the great brass carapace I wore eon before. corona of songs and serfs. let that be a lesson to anyone who holds a scepter to the sun. you are a weathervane, and you see to the north east and west (the south is already yours) and you are a lightning rode and you attract all of earth's danger and her heaven's hell too. 

am a piece of jade
so cool to bring peace
am a slab of stone
I freeze to you
so cold as to bring death
we walk the walk
now talk 

today I walked to the well and I drug up the bucket. I drank and the water had a foul flavour. I put a penny on my tongue, the copper scaled over, green. the well had grown a dire evil, cursed, full of demons, and down in the boiling hell beneath the earth some of satan's fire had bubbled into the cistern. all around the well were the cloaked bodies of black skin, cloaked in the gray and brown of supplicants, they had perished. how I had not noticed them before, I do not know. I slipped the penny neath my tongue and hurried home. now I write this and in my hear there is a something, heaven sound. like the chattering of silver bells and the tongue of a voice I do not understand. now I write this and my eyes are closing happy, my tongue only aches. and I am heavy, and the pen is heavy, and I am not so afraid to have drunk from the well of kings.

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