CALLOUSES FORM ON THE FINGERS
AS THE BLOOD OF THE OCEANS RISE
UP AGAINST THE SANDS
OF EGO DEATH.
HOW MANY ACCOLADES MUST BE THROWN TO THE WIND
BEFORE THE POETS REALIZE
ITS ALL A SHOW.
PELICANS PERCHED ON CLIFFS,
HIGH UP ON THE MOUNTAINTOPS
THEY DIVE, THEY PLUNGE, THEY PLUMMET FOR THEIR SUSTENENCE.
These are the days when death is a cheap bill and the expense of breath is like the indulgence of lovers. How many words are necessary to teach you the unnecessariness of words? Its like tigers skateboarding across a rainbow while contemplating the true nature of plastic extractions from native lands and the perpetual permission to ponder. Do you get what I mean? Im talking bout the system, of giraffes, and the next necks stretched out to the leaves, by the levees, where im leaving, before the damn breaks. Give me a damn break. Whoosh. Theres water every where. Theres liquid. Who spilled it? The limit. I reached it. Then killed it. Then bleached it. Then filled it with cotton. Mounted up on the wall, it says, I got balls. Like debutantes. Like debacles. Like Debauchery. Maybe. Its debatable. I’m here. I hear im not datable. I keep data well. Thats ok, well, I guess.