Empire of the Sun
The sad, the hopes, the fear that runs through the veins causing me to shake like a young leaf in Autumn. The rattle of the heart on the
The sad, the hopes, the fear that runs through the veins causing me to shake like a young leaf in Autumn. The rattle of the heart on the doorstep looking out at the falling sky; the heartbeat rose gallantly shattering like glass on stone. Ice storms in the furnace of the Empire of the Sun.
Skin shaking, bones growing, the call of the magnificent WILD… Wild and stern and crisp and calm yet full of tortures and blessings and deep blues and blazing oranges. I caught a glimpse of a young girl hunting romance in the hills, hunting passion as empty as a gaping cave and what do I know anyway … simplicity … fleeting dream and lonely tick of the clock from up there in my imaginary tower of wood and glass and sacred ass hung tightly like a cloak in a set of denim pants crisp with dirt and fresh with the fragrance of some innocent outpourings … WILD … tempting and behavior like honey and sand and the eyes of some god are upon us all as we sleep and weep and cry for kingdom come along the shaft of an arrow, along the sleeve of a bruised and oily shirt.
The mathematics of the cactus are all a conflagration, graduation to a higher pot and seed and someone please, shoot the editor inside of me … don’t look, don’t stop, don’t struggle in the web; let it simply fall away from you as you lie still and quiet in your unending struggle of life … the life, the strife, the compass and the mirror and the magnet call for you to jump out some thirty floor window and holler out loud as you plunge toward the earth helplessly and superbly to splash down like a watermelon SPLAT!
I am no clock, I am no oven, I am no star-spangled wannabe, I am simply suffering inside of me, quietly fading, baking, shaving, correlating every mystery that abounds behind my eyes and what lie am I when I cannot speak because I am all shuttered up inside like a tender doll house in the direct path of a hurricane and to create what vision for what reason and in what season; the blues come rolling in like hot waves of wonder and puzzling jaunts through another circus day of wandering and piracy and misdirected lust and the cucumber just lays there like a slaughtered calf and we are all so different yet so much alike; all of us just piece of matter and genetic code and surprise and secrets and lies and lovers in the night hollering emotions through a megaphone whilst some other hover lover peacefully sleeps like a dragon roll in some mountain of silver and put me in the coal cart, shove me off to the mine, watch me sail down the shoddy tracks, down deeper into the belly of mother earth and she swallows me whole like a banana on a wedding night belonging to some jeweled princess who believes in the makeshift power of love and a fast, expensive car and a heartbeat that blips softly and with eventual end.
Hurtling toward the poppy nose and the tender dip upon her cheek, the round room speaks volumes and tributes to the yachts skimming through the dry desert sand outside her window; the flags are rattling in the flatlands wind, the canyons calling, howling through their gated veins and open pores of rocks and shattered guts of steel and light, the green and tan skin of its narrow slit seething with a peace and tranquility and religion all about it; one could sit or kneel upon a mat or the dirt itself and go deep down inside one’s soul and for once – just LISTEN, to the nurtured call of baby’s soul wrapped around the banister of a steep stairwell to heave and all the baked canvas light eagerly bathing my eyes in a warm mallow ray calling out for one more piece of peace and in no pipe so strangely do I carve another chimney in China out of rock and red red blood and cement spit yellow golden ties of leaf and kief and the typewriter jet lands at another international airport where the well-dressed groovies count compass and watch and jet lag tear tears and the mice go scurrying about the kingdom of sweatsuits and pressed suits and shined shoes and a great burger with a slice of heavenly sweet tea to slooosh it all down with: SLOOOOSH, the juice runs through the body pipes, soaks bones and muscles and flesh and organs and settles in a pool in the belly stagnating and fornicating with the acid and the hoppers and the bunny men all boiled up in the bowels.
Cohesive paste not here, not this nochy, oh my brotha.
I spun the little silver wheel of yet another cheap cigarette lighter while looking out the window at laughter… What are you feeling anyways?
Doldrums and doll parts. Synergy and the cycloptic hard on. Cordial Campari and warm butterscotch on my acid-tainted tongue. Rubies. Opals. Black eyes and black pearls. Lust, fever, hate, greed, hidden tears and body parts. Blonde locks and warm thighs, soft skin and big sad eyes. Crying and crying like some whimsical robot on aspirin. Bullets and magnets. Pulling and pushing. Upside down and right-side up. Confusion. Malaise. Tender wishes and bitter dreams, Coal. Diamonds. Needs and wants. Religion and secular demands. I got it all wrapped up in a hard-boiled egg called brain and soul and the tortuous roll. Spider veins and spider monkeys on Judas Island down by the shore where fat men sail monkey boats and swallow big gulps of cheap American vodka. Swallow the burn, swallow the distaste, swallow the Valentine voodoo. Witchy haunts and goblin hills, fog rolling over the swamp and all is said and done good night to the knights and their knots and their restless, shivering sleeps upon the waves of cold wind Himalayan spot. Stop pressing the wrong buttons.