Phoetry

Venal plague setting deep in, under the skin

The deep feeling of expulsion, growing thin

Voiding the void within, the shuddering din

Greeting the need to win in the stillness of sin

vernal plague

Elvis vinh dong truong dang man thinhg

Buon don gon Elvis thuat duon don ton

Vuet Elvis vuet Elvis, thuan dinh king

Tuat Elvis hip Elvis, jing jing cuoan tin

Buoy buey Elvis gan yip dinh king

Kuoy kuey Elvis gan yip dihn king

I see the strange hate that his heat in this sick and rejected world

The word is the world, the world is the word if we love and love

The love is the love of the world if the world is the word of love

I can see that this street is sunny and full of friends’ smiling faces

I see the faces of the friends who smile at me as they walk down the street

I see my woman, I know that she is fine

She looks at me, she likes me, maybe she loves me

And the world is good

T.F.B.

This is it

What I tried to say

I wanted it that way

A plan that is hard to sell

The moon, man

The moon, man

I wanted so much to play

To try to stay away

We had those feelings deep in side

Trying to live in this hotel

The moon, man

The moon, man

Going down the the aisle

Those feelings I’ve got to hide

I know I cannot let it ride

The feelings I know I cannot tell

The moon, man

The moon, man

A thrice tale told

Want to make it hold

Keep it in the fold

With a true old friend’s heart

We never lose our friends

We never lose our friends

We never lose our friends

Our friends, they never find an end

Our friend, they are never lost

Never lost, even when they are lost

The moon, man

She wears a funny face

Mistress of the bunny race

Spectre of the garden gnomes

Golem of a thousand sacred homes

Pleading immemorial basilisk

Finding the thought superior

Bleeding like a phony vampire

The demon’s kiss

Like a vampire

Strange god-like sensations

Feeling frigate frigid friend

Weird googly sounds strike

Finding the lord jinx stink

A guitar holding the plain

The pale silent threnody

Pail of strange ghostly you

Biting holy windows of me

Thinking thoroughly of her

He me she we be three to be

Be to three we shall be as she

Thinking the groans and gish

Wanting to see, wanting to want

Streamed thumb

Hinged pad

The finest in the field

SHRAP!

SHRAP

Gonna into a fish tent

Gonna see what’s in there

Gonna see the fish in the fish tent

Gonna smell what they smell like

Fish in the fish tent

Feeling warm, hot, sticky and ripe

Remembering those hot days turned cool

Cool days turning hot

The slow, hot crawl of the sun across the stinking sky

A festering reminder of every day that we’re alive, the struggle, the rot and plunder

We feel out throats and hearts leaping, throwing themselves out of our skins

We see beauty, we feel it sometimes, we know it is close

But how often are we truly beautiful?

fish tent

Knowing noble, the purple people

Glancing growling, cheeks aglow

The beautiful people, and those that want to be, or think that they are

Glowing with youth, the morphic dream, halls of mystery,

Pulsing with fake life, the domains of squalid dreams

Finding a hell of your own to complete the mystery

The people moving the faces, the pictures of age and dream

The dream of hate loving hate,

Love hating love,

But it is another world of witless wire,

A wire writing the witless world,

Finding fate with the friendless friends,

Cutting hair dry, cutting to the bone of a bone-dead rag man

Running ragged, a revolution of rage and friendly putridity

Pleasing the friendly parson, pastor of pleasure

Haunting the fields of friendless fantasy,

The hollow hell of a victimless victory

Finding solutions in the early decades of ecstasy

Grinding the solution of the soul-depth, finding that day of  carnal fantasy

A hollow curse of jaded anti-metabolism, shrinking with each passing day

The wonderful little jade pleasure gore, gore gore gore

The pleasure that we are to ourselves

We please and we are pleasing, we walk and we look

We are good at looking, and we look good; we eat, and we know we eat

The days fill with food and looking. And we look.

We look.

Shadow reflection 2

Old ghosts stare like craven superzealots

Finding friends, the friendly fascists gore

Blindly pacing the tearless threnody

Gore, Gore, Bliley, Sarbanes, Gore

Blindly eating a saltless tragedy

Singing the praise of gutless guitars

The tears flowing salty streaks

Singing old tuneless chants

Blindly into the hollow night

Lit, faintly, at one end

Where the halls of people moan

Where the halls of people moan