Rythm Blasted Nightmares(turn the goddamn bass down)

The truth devotee, lambasted, lethargic, legless, lawless, and loose. Chasing an ambulance with a wheel chair. Swallowing gelato in the sunshine spring parks of world turning dusk. I'm eating my way to freedom.

French fried, apple pied, double stacked and triple cheesed, mayonaise please, two stories of pickles, a ham, a hock, a hemlock swallowed by indifference. Jesus could have eaten sewage and still swam the English Channel, but he chose to walk.

I'm crossing myself to nothing and hoping nothing was double crossed.

In the country, boys steal to release, relive, relieve, repeat, rehash, re-establish the status quo of too much, too little, too late, and too soon. My donut holes are sunk years ago, my hollow leg filled up, and now my gut is busting. My jeans are bursting, my tee shirts tighter than ever.

Glutton, majestic fence rider, back door alleyway gatherer, mythic bringer of jungle juiced, camo toothed, whiskey booted, hollywood hating nightmare. My Buffalo Trace runs directly down my spine, my backbone thrown to a dog, devoured by the non-specialized and de-sensitized.

There's no cure for the common cur.

Mutt, butt-fucker, fag, harlott, skank, whore, misanthropic reviewer of two doors down from the sundance saloon. Might as well be night; time when you shank the bitch goodbye, slip into the quiet spreading pool of blood, and twist until the skin comes.

I'm free, I'm breathing, I am an I with an eye squeegied open. fingering the entrails of a dead goat, watching the stars for a sign of revival, burning the bible, ghost up on mountain side ski slope, slipping my cold breath through the cracked floorboard winter night. My mind is. My third eye dawning squeekie clean.

My chasm, schizm, schizoid ramblings, wrapping parties, rapping parties, ripping panties, raiding refrigerators, walls, dustbins (no one knows what it's like).

Lick the plate clean, lick the stems off the cherry, lick the ice off the window, lick the warm water off your tongue, lick the bath tub lined with soap scum/calcium/hair/skin/linoleum/love/cold/hate/self doubt/no doubt/steam/heat.

Mind, mined, mounted, stuffed, gold plated, pewter dipped, soliquoy to the little boy, who hid behind the closet door, and didn't believe you weren't trying to kill him.

(this is not a metaphor).

The ghost in this house haunts all floors, knows no doors, he burns with the candles, the incense, the cigarrettes, the pot, the eggs, the rice, the turkey, the chicken, the ham, the hock, the hemingway, spilled from the bell toll, pulling the weight down from the heights, pulling the wool over the midnight oil, burning the house down.