Alicia's Nails
Were the color of her drink.
Did they cost $3 a bottle?
To puree and drink them
Would fuck you up
Further than baking soda in vinegar veins.
You would never be focused on one thing
Everyone think your lusting eyes were on acid
(How they scream
"Put it in me!
Put it in me!")
You know how they can test your hair for your full drug history?
Alicia didn't dye her hair
That whole lock shocked
As she nibbled a pink nail
On accident
"With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, women with pink nails are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know"
Increase the volume of O2 in your lungs by decreasing the pressure
Now increase the pressure on your oxygenated blood by decreasing the diameter of your blood vessels
Do this progressively to make an infinite circuit throughout your body.
But the energy that causes certain chemicals in the back of your eye to switch weight and pull on neurons
Sing an orchestra through your semi-randomly sequences web of neurons that you are in bliss
To see such a round nose, such a hungry looking face, CLOSE your blood vessels FAST for a moment
Change the pressure on your lungs constantly and suddenly your brain is engorged
(And then the physics class crowds in)
Ready to reprogram, to take on a collision course with her particles without first colliding
For the mind is as faceted as those tiny elements that tie our tides
And the electrons making us up aren't the only things spinning.
A sixth dimensional man weaves the four dimensional fate in which we collide
In a stark and ephemeral pink, burning us for the sake of eternity,
And our souls resonate with reality itself.
If ya getta peench
I'm popping with rocks
I can eat a feench
Freys in the socks
Ticks the tides of mind
And parachute docks
If you try the wine
Just get into the pool
I really think you're pyine
Nose cuts through the frule
Rushing too far forward
Begging at the mountain stool
Thou squishyest pud of the mortal time
Thou veinest worn athlete of my lark
No rolls in the depths, no strolls in the park
I no longer hold this messy mess mine
When will bliss stop, this surfeit of boat-limes?
There must be a way we long steer this ark
Must we mine salt from the bones of a shark?
She were madness alone who birthed our times.
Freedom is on the rise in my pants now.
The cell that enwinged the poet keeps me.
Testosterone flows loosely in these veins.
Tantra's circle is a way fuck Dao
Illusion is kept as long as I see
And what went to the sheets flows to my brains.
A Good Weekend
She sent me out onto the street
Stumbling, enraged by the lack of her face
Despite the copious amount we imbibed
I contemplated placelessness on this planet
A perfect intellectual strain
To express my drunken tiredness
to the empty air.
After that, sitting two dogs
The boy tried to mount the stronger girl
She threw him to the floor.
My brother used to joke
That I would walk up reeling
To a girl with a 1,000-page book in her lap
And tell her the size, the strength of my books
Cats developed barbs on their penises
I wonder about those who didn't
That brief species
Whose women's lib was so embraced
The female running off before the male could cum.
The vague sensation that psychology
Wouldn't be a concern for cavemen.
Cats developed their intelligence
In their native desert, right where humans did.
In Jerusalem we learned love of sevens
In Jerusalem we learned chastity
And developed the work that grows in a vacuum.
I constantly wonder
If Dr. Manhattan
Developed an endocrine system.
They call me wise
Spending all time in my mind
My mustache grays at 22
That night, the woman who spirals
My lines, and throws them to the sky.
She sent me out on the street,
Walking off the warmth and firmness
Of my relentlessly underused penis
Which now hopes for reconciliation
And an entry into my life and mind
We passed by a girl who finished
All of a to-do list
And I didn't even see her at first
I was busy talking about how
The discovery of chakras
Might have sprung forth from
prodigious surgery techniques
In India.
In prose: I want to have wholesome sexual union in my life. I want to be slightly overactive, ideally. But no bro date-rape. I want a spiritual, emotional, intellectual, and physical union.
Date-rape is eating with our molars.
Closeness is meat.
Incisors spilled.
Lord, take this face of vacuum, this hair grown that peace and art may grow among men, mere word trying to be made man, and turn it to a face of flesh. A face fresh-shaven? It doesn't follow. Then turn these Puritanical minds and back into the minds so passionate, so at one with their bodies, that scared us into Puritanism. To be honest, Lord, Christ's resurrection isn't cutting it without a follow-up through Pan's resurrection. The cross is long, it is hard, and it could do the job, but no one wants it to.
"Power hour." -Allison G. Harpohead
CNN
fuckmeintheass
CNN
fuckmeintheass
CNN
fuckmeintheass
We should have like a Coveycentered lungfull
like they're close
But we would probably do group hugs.
Covey will try his hand
To weird intros
I will timewarp him
To the lifetime where he chooses Physics
Quantum Physics! Not rolling and bowling
But being conscious and oh god I gotta rhyme bowling
Covey at the electron microscope:
A supergod, the only man who stood far back enough
to keep electrons acting anomolously when he monitored each.
And then he'd watch them reel around one another
quaking quiet loves for the unknown ones
And they'd say, "Hey, let's make like a Coveycentered lungfullium (Oh God maybe there's a real particle that's cool that the electrons admire positrons? No that's stupid)"
One of them would say, "Electrons aren't characterly enough to be Muslim"
No he wouldn't. The lack of progress in quantum physics is in thinking of electrons of uncharacterly
Do electrons have murder? Disempowerment?
This Metaphor doesn't Even make sense.
OK. New Poem.
Will they ask us to keep our blood in seperate baggage?
Dehydrated cubes fly hundreds of miles an hour through the sky.
When our veins are full,
Feeling less whole.
Reconstituted Nick sees the Psychologist: "I just feel like FUCK YOU and then I don't know it's like I had something before you know?"
"Sir, what the asschiv are you talking about? Are you simply inane?"
"Inane? That's simply uncontextual."
"You're simply retarded. To aid in this, I'm eating you."
"NO DON'T DOIT!"
"NOM!"
Maybe terrorists should spike all of our heroine with explosives.
When the moment is ripe, they'll all set off
Half breaking commerce and faith in humanity
Half breaking the drug cartels, advancing the government's chokehold
Then they'll pull right out of Iraq
So much for the people pressing them.
I shouldn't write this in the airport.
They'll shoot me for writing this.
War was declared on Iran.
I was shot for the curliness of my beard
I was shot for the tanness of my skin
I was shot for the hungriness of my stomach.
Everything I ever wanted.
NOM!
For Islam,
I extracted essence of the rose
Perfume I sold
To Hindu,
Essence of the nose.
Essence, as in scent.
Then all you have to do is press on the tip and whiff
Gorduma,
You beautiful goddess I just made up for a play
Your huge, wonderful nozzler
That shnozz I hope the directors hear
In the minute-long drumbeat
*duuuuuuuuuma*
To be honest, I've been pressing on my nose and whiffing for years
You may have noticed me rolling my upper lip
Trying to be subtle,
But it's probably even weirder than when I use my hand.
So I've got essence of Hindu,
I might even incarnate Krishna
But the only woodwind I know is Spongebobnose
She's only a friend,
But honestly,
Platonically,
I want do blow into her nose and poke it
playing pipes
Vulgarer than fucking?
Of course, a high-way to the neocortex, the nose is,
No conscious, repressive middle man.
Even sex has its hang ups, but this
This is primal joy, unyielding.
My brother used to cover my mouth and blow in my nose to pop my ears
To be honest, every time I call you way too much
And tell you to write me emails every day in the summer
Is a psychological reaction to when he started kicking my ass instead of blowing my mind
Yeah it's over.
But he'd never blow my mind again, he's so adult.
Maybe I'm just hoping that that game can be played again.
Good a reason as any for trying to get intimate with everyone.
Einstein said he never met anyone so dumb he didn't learn from them.
I mean, I could learn from everyone, but I don't. Let's be honest. Who has that much mindfulness?
But I mean it when I say I've never met someone I couldn't nuzzle.
No, I don't have a fetish, that'd turn me on to everyone!
But every nose is so individual, yet so infinitely beautiful.
TV tells you what cheeks to have, what eyes to have, what hair, body, and dress,
And sure, a curvy nose usually comes with a curvy ass, which is enough to send pancaked housewive to the gym for a year straight,
But you can't ever tell someone what kind of nose to come with.
Noses are the foundations of democracy.
The nose is the national body part of India, who invented the first plastic surgery to replace lost ones.
Who invented incense
Who have as many gods as there can be dips, curves, and nuances to noses.
Sodomy in Mumbai
A local man was bristled in his xgog
There were no survivors
While new york basements only fantasies
While new york basements warm regards.
Editors' jokes of regrets are kidding on the square
Then golden gods gave Dr. another shot
And he nourished the electrons as children
Standing back far enough to hear love ringing
Walls sprawling as cobblestone
Blood Bombs
My will spilled in planeseats
Backtubes searing draining me
Lookin' like a vampire who doesn't eat
When rehydrated lookin like a god damn microwaved dinner of yourself.
Heroine bombs
Distilled in the poppyfields of afghanistan
With extra bang the soldiers left
You can't smoke on a plane, but this shit's fine
Plane crack thunderclap
Massive drugring crack
Send those g's back
Hear senate clap
On Getting Shot at the Airport
I was pretty pissed when Obama announced the invasion of Iran in 2010.
It was even worse when they shot me through the face at the airport.
Curls whirling, singed to the conveyor belt
Slight melatonin dashed on my backpack
Empty belly leaking nothing but air
Thank God!
Neezlenoz
Isleeruzz
Indienuzz
Swiffenboff
Gorduma
Firefate
Doomdoom
Nuzz Deep
Soloing sweet tremutones
Fingering pink fleshynose
Gray an green winds so old
Let the life breathe to your core
Old school multidimesionalists
strewn about on riptide seas
it doesn't seem bad until you stand
Sinking down up to your knees
homage never came from your hand
What are these swarms of 4d bees
And how did they get so near and flat
ask them, as time progresses, askence sneeze
Wondergorge pigs caught up, that that
Here present were two small games
Wishing they could formulate the rush
of dots that came to an eyeball in frame
you and your sister made, then roar, hush hush
Charlie Watts Paints of Horses
Breathlessly up to me, she
Abhales "extract"
Extract
Like tunneling through inches of soil
Sure that on your journey you'll hit oil
And not some carnivorous mole colony.
But he says
Excesses
We're together
So indistinguishable
We extinguish
abhales
The assinine fallacy
That forces one
To think
Of ending mines
For light.
The Discovery of Everything
We were going to finish
Knowing all of anatomy
When a geneticist decided to put wings on
Then spontaneous sprouting
From unaltered genes
A universal spinning of electrons
People who don't shower
Skank-ass ho's
Have given you everything you know
A man repeated
Socrates' one good line:
"All I know is that I know nothing"
And the road to absolute knowledge
Was complete once again on Earth
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell%27s_theorem
I Think My Summer Camp Was Secretly A Program For Scouting Werebirds
Almost conspiritorial
Is the cabin
As we laugh
Post-taps
In raw wood
Secretly allowed
box of comics
Blood and boobs
Mind-bending
Squished bird
That was my moment of truth, lost and gone forever
When I didn't, in a rage change to bird form and storm
Yet still when I walk down the street
Hearkening to a wonderous beak
hearkening to a troundlesome peep
Flying above to roost in a tree
Scents of the mint toothpaste
My mom never gave me
Smelled in the bank, brushing our teeth
Fill's my memories round nose.
And maybe when taught roostage
To joke and tremor pre-dream
To brew in our insecurity lovebeat
In 'nards of a cabin like branches of a tree
We become
Organisms
In a world other than ours
It is so much more
There's a fleshy tract
Stretching back
My wooden desk
I'm a poet, god damn it
poetes , creator
Father
Daughter,
I called you
Spilling your innards
My boss told me I should fuck you
I was disgusted, outraged, at the thought
Of giving you what naturally should happen
Where did that fleshy poem
Handwash orgasms
Liquid woman from the couch depths
Did I tell her that I might have loved soap so much it killed love
Upon Learning of the Eigenharp
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8294355.stm
Things started to get interesting
When that silly old species really started to play
"I am going to wear you out"
Staring at her drooling a lacivious drool
Being particularly silly mortals,
They wondered if they weren't ascending
Who could blame them?
The gauntlet of day and dream
Rending for the sweet freedom
In exhaling
We inhale
Untitled
Will. I am Falconer. I am Nobel, kill peasants who spoil my sport. It really depends. I am dead smells of wild games now crusty sweat matress cabin with old sex that got Alzheimer's.
The new sheen of my windows and bright lights
Offer no contrast to the dark void outside.
Alone time in novels is for suicides and climactic reflections.
Stark eye-open next day, spotlight on empty stage
(Do white men kill because their land is so ugly?)
Energy I could never embody races from a black pontiac
It is SIDSID, best friend, daughter.
I tell her my of my newest gay crush to make her smile and squeam where she stands.
(Am I gay to excite her?)
We poke each others' noses until they chafe red
I lay down, a matress for her.
Let her scent really sink in.
If Robert Anton Wilson were Zeus,
Alan Moore would be Prometheus,
(And Bob would smile, merely no longer fit enough to walk down Olympus with fire)
Tom Robbins would be Bacchus,
And make funky fresh perfume:
Pan's pee, Narcissus, ambrosia.
He'd take offerings in vials:
Menstrual blood, pomegranite, and beet pollen.
Reading
I've been getting some more personal reading done
Not still stale stories, but how-to's.
provoking us to dance and mash noses together.
But with all the YV
It's not sexy
On the end of my nose's long journey it declares,
"There are more angles to me than your tongue can fathom. Dance hard, and sweat heavy. I grow tired of soap. I came here to get as ugly as birth."
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