There are a lot of things I’m thinking about now-joy and pain, sex and rhythm, and the misogynist temple. The body opens up through the mind’s eye and a million people see the unseen. It’s only been a few days since I arrived back in Winston and I’ve been out and about in the mix for long enough to know that I cannot stay. The Universe has pulled me back to say but a few words and move on. I am after all a machine. I am an irony engine, motivated by the faithful to be a catalyst for change. If you know, what I mean? More “Beautiful Nothing” than, an “Escapist Wizard”. What I pride myself on is being able to know the difference. I scribbled this poem in my notebook when I was drunk at P&M’s the other night (by P&M’s I mean Pat and Margret’s, not Pop and Mom’s).
Deadly Poltergeist, the one to stay tragic, a million cosmonauts live in the damage, the world in of itself was left for those that dare to dream a number of the beast on my 501 jeans. Multitudes of mysterious men walk/talk in their sleep an insult friend; the jungle is thick and lush with cat hairs, fiery bush and Adair’s. The working man is face down in the gutter. Twice removed from Hogarth’s mother. Hogarth/Hogwarts silly girl nothing is ever how it seems, the universe is full of joy and mischief to the Foltoroy. Yom Kippur and Rash-a-Shana the hum of a thousand wings is my ultimate sauna Burning bright embers in the night young maidens in heat take flight Burden by sorrows the child crying, the dreamer awakes-and dies. Tattooed angles of a different kind the misdirection’s of all people behind. More of Fancy Feet of stone/deeper than cleats we remain.