In a thick cloud of reasoning
and malice
the long haired beast begins
questioning his knowledge:

Cut the gas out of my lungs
and let the eggs simmer on the blacktop.
Stretch my eyes down to my knees
and stare at me directly.
A cattle mutilation
not related to science.
Precision incisions that leave no mess.
And
the
mother
ship
is
calling
back to me.
Oh fucking leave me here,
by myself,
my own amputee.
Loving for the first time in a rotted world with termite enthusiasm,
like finding my first wood.
A seed
never far from growing that
never
grew again.
Drag the spoon across my eyes.
May the metal
dance in the the flames and reflect
back onto the spoon.
Then scoop quite forcefully
my third eye from this head-trap.

03/07/2009

Posted on 03/07/2009
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