Dream

gifted|charged with a worrying paper-toothed tender chrysalis yielding dry blue wings falling away to sift underfoot|emerging relieved and silent breaths

I've been walking on these streets so long
I don't know where they're going to lead anymore
But I think I must have seen a ghost
I don't know if it's my illusions that keep me alive

careful transfer|clutching upon a scaly knuckle|imprints|minute bird|huddling soft strong curled claws and thumping cannons

I'm tired of Evil
And all that it feeds
But I don't know
I've been drifting on this wave so long

elative|palpable telemetry clicks underskin (the rotary dialing out and back)|secondhand racing backward out of time to wind wings never seen but in stills|zippers|time again

I don't know if I'm sane
But there's a ghost in my heart
Who's trying to see in the dark
I'm tired of people who only want to be pleased

But I still want to please you

a throat like light through wine|away|fruit-sugar in jars and dowels|you help impress my friends|slick folded wings on my finger

I don't know where I've been
But I know where I'm going
To that Volcano
I don't wanna fall in though
Just want to warm my bones
On that fire awhile.*

father to a creature I didn't create





*selected "Volcano" lyrics written by Beck

Aloisius, you are a hairball spewn from the maw of Hell itself.

Need I say more, cat? YES. You may look plush and peaceful, even rigor mortis, but one could only be so lucky. YOU IMP. That's right. Obviously you and Satan have something worked out: he gets your soul and in exchange you take my skin. Soon your days of renting flesh and spitting venom upon this Earth will be over, asshole. Surely my salvation will be precluded by an eternity spent in the 9th Circle, where you will gnaw at my skull for your pleasure. Why not open your eyes, YOU DICK, so that the rest of the world can look straight into the pit of Hell? I'll see you there.


Oh, and Merry Christmas. Enjoy the poinsettia.