THE MISSION OF MERCY

sulfur baths and thorn bush rollers. "you should be thankful for those pins in your fingertips," said the host to the vacuum cleaner salesman. he would take the place of the Devil's mouse in the hamster's wheel for trying to stop time with a bandage ("no sugar pill for you, now..."). he'd be salty as an hourglass. he'd show you good time. one should feel so lucky. roll the dice and dig for rotting corpses in the basement. we've nothing and we're running out [of]...the door. the light bulb in the sky will blind me yet (no more golden pennies for me). searching for Destruction with a compass. climbing crippled ladders to find the nursery. second chance given to those with hatchets. kneeling before switchblade alters. a one-eyed seer will reveal to you that the crumbling path will take you to that special hour (the grapes in his hand never lie).

BLACKDIAMONDBLINK

beneath switchblade nights, the meadow piggybackrides a little boy in bloodstained overalls who washes off with the chlorine syrup. he's mixing life and death in cocktail glasses and whispers "God's the antichrist" in sign language. a splish and a splash and the cave's unlocked: "behold! the glimmering black rust flakes...no heaven could imagine such a treat!" splish splash. the pornography faction bullies with marshmallow kisses. a tithe for Path and tit for tat. a Roman blowtorch used to nitpick in the hair of children picking varied flowers with their jellybean claws in the garden of their own creation. the sensual stroking feather dipped in water's dressed with pubic thorns in piercing secret places to deny and reject Life with its prostitute kiss. we all hold hands and feel Love - our hands have all been glued together, and i'm jealous of the rooster with its virgin death. in an instant of hope, my teeth plunge for a toothpick in my shirt pocket. i'll slice and dice the flaky flakes and follow the rooster home.

SUNBURST

there we would lie. we'd slumber on a bed of snails. i laid. you lied: you promised me peaches. but, i'd be the one in front of the fifth gate at the house of St. Francis. you'd doubt with the finger. i'd rise as the sun. i would not see you then. i'd wait on the shore. slice the butterscotch sky. the kaleidoscope starburst would guide me back home (and still, no sign of you). this is my chaotic allegory, and i'd grow weary of the perfumed rose (would you be my allegory?). from my head spills dead leaves, and the vinegar drips from my ear. dust. the uncoiling twisted rope. stumbling loosely out of bed, i saw that i'd grown wings. i'm far from your shadow, and so are you. we're on a raft of misery, but the horizon's closed its legs. i thought of Pisa, and as i saw your rising bubbles in the sea, i wondered if you Understood.

JULIANA PERPLEXED

reclining on her bed of nails, she plays with arabesque patterns, sifting through with plastic fingertips up to her hair. she's struck with an acute sense of awareness, but cannot see her hands. layers of creamcheesethick milk whitewash her vision. tries to drink it through a straw, but it's just too thick. too mindconsuming. there'd be no crackers here. but, she'd spy a tiger snacking on expensive cookies. how she smiled - we'd remember (yes, we'd remember). and yes, of course we'd always remember. she's colorful tonight, so she's injecting bleach in through her fingertips. she'd bite her lip until it'd bleed. she'd feel as though for sure it was just a dream. don't cry. it could seem like a game, but she truly did not know. she'd no idea... and she'd not sleep at all tonight.

METRONOME

merrily wept the lollipop. i'll stroke your face at 3 o'clock, and like a genie you'd pop out - a million myths ("they had to come from somewhere!" we'd cry out). a sacrifice in blood. they'd slice your crown off with a ruler and then crawl into a hole. a hundred times they would praise mankind from atop their flagpoles - hanging on by swinging tails. and when the scales appear in the sky at 3 o'clock, the scything image will descend and laugh because the calendars were etched in stone. the stones were just mirages. you ate for days and days. the hourglass,...it bled and bled (you never knew it could have poured you a drink). merrily broke the fiddle's string. caressed your face at 2 o'clock, and like the dead, i could not sing.

VELVET TORTURE

maybe with apocalyptic feathers we will glide up to the turtle's beak and understand the Wounds of Five. she's trapped behind the zebra's flesh. that cage of black and white belongs to her. she's in the library writing books with unseen claws and unimagined tentacles. she'd prescribe while we'd subscribe (though she could never imagine living that creature - forget about koala fantasies!). He'd be an egg in Dimension X. she'd scribble herself out of existence (meanwhile, He'd erase Himself into it). somewhere there's a space. somewhere there's a something. on that lonely hill i will mount the cross with my brand new set of unsharpened pencils (i would need no blade). i'd be ripe for lizards, and while she tumbleweeds through empty halls, i'd shake hands with Annihilation. she would not know me now (she could not - nor could she fathom such a concept). even though she'd know, the Question would always be wrong (she would be so lucky) - she'd still be speaking through her webbed feet. for now,...i'll wait to melt to sand.

SACRIFICE

i'm staring at you with my snowcone eyes. they're drilling holes deep into your skull. and i can see the past Creations in this black and endless void. and yes, i gaze upon yesterday's Infinity like i would gaze into your eyes (between your thighs). the trees stand still, but i'm still pulsating. i'm vibrating as i offer my neck for your guillotine. i'll buy you a hatchet and stretch out my arms. i'm pacing back and forth: i am your eyes. the ocean drowns itself. i am your mind. we're melting faces in this house of glass. now God's your sacrifice. i am your mind, and your body's on fire. now, snakes crawl through your eyes.

JHAKKI (A VIDEO)

she's riding her horse to the edge of the world. she's zipping right by me: the spaghetti murmur in confetti flashes brightly. and she's skipping between time and space. skipping heartbeats. and the neon streaks, they flash on by. with one hand on the whirling handrail, she'd cry the beauty of fluorescence, while i'd freeze to stone in her dust. and though i sense her breath, i'm on another plane. she's with me now, though i can't find her. i live with snails and tread my unseen trail with a passed down bamboo flute. her French drops off her lightning lips. and me,...i' taking centuries to drink a cup of tea. from here i spy the universe. i'm reclined on your bed of dread (born from the pain of watching leaves fall - we'd stand for nothing short of novelties). perhaps one day she'll join me for some tea and stop to smell the rotting meat. but for now, the neon streaks,...they flash on by.

A SPINNING GIRL AND THE DEAD

i stand and talk in chocolate feathers. i am feeling comfortable. i'm floating in my rowboat towards you. i let the current sway me to you, but you act as if i'm spraying you with daggers - as if your eyes were pierced with these limetipped needles. your barbwired lips had chosen to forsake me. you're as though i'm smothering you with pillows etched with gingerbread men and sunflower motifs...but my dear, it's not yet morning. yes, those sculptured lips of yours, they jumped the frantic, and i skipped onto your merry-go-round and ripped the hair out of your horsey's tail by the handful until you started bleeding from your newly issued bald spot, and you nearly turned around and slapped me. i gaze down still and see, like leadweighted shoes, the pressure from the unejaculated concrete. i see a temple filled with corpses, and they're twitching as if speaking in tongues (they're grabbing for the channel changer and piss a million frames per second). your prosthetic visions are a bundle of knotted hair in the webs of metal spiders. i see the tropical colored channelswitch perversion in your mind. if i would ask, you'd shower me into a rainbow (i'll shut my mouth and swim back home). if i dare ask...

A RODENT TWILIGHT

like losing track of time. you scratched the image of a sundial upon my mind's façade with dandelions in your mushroom grace. i'd veil my bones. you'd touch no calcium. a tick tock countdown. persistence like some clay figures of priests cradled in the moist hands of a craftsman. buy salvation for a nickel. papier mâché underneath a homburg for deliverance - "let us slide down the volcanic rainbow one more time before the end of the world," cries the guilty man with two left hands. a turtle marks the end of time (he nods, as only he knows). the bumblebee and cow share a room with the blesséd serial killer. nuns and whores reversing roles. exchanging the halo with dripping glue in hand. Guilt's dribble. a sword for love. a lovely sword. no distinction. and blood is milk like death is death (a caterpillared fruitcake!). dropping by. dropping stones on heads. there is no shadow in this meadow, no messiahs in this graveyard. a switchblade in the mind's an icepick to the head. apocalypse is far away, but's here now for the itching fingers. i stroll and glide through waxed floors with my feet of pillows like i would walk on water. and in my animation, i will swerve these zigzag swirlscapes. i'd see no Judgment.

PARADOX

halfway to reality. and halfway to again. again and again. never reach the mark. the waltzing candle"s flame will never touch me. halfway to ("oh weary feet"), but still a rose is etched in stone. symbols squeezed of liquid gold upon a tombstone where a Zen dog's mouthing "no no no." just like jelly. i crush the numbers in my palm. i'm munching on a cracker. and a flask of poison words is shrined beneath the bed. i sense the smell of oysters, bite my lip, and then stay silent. halfway in the strychnine egg. "hold your tongue, that you may get there," i whisper secretly to my other hand. you leapfrog towards infinity. build your kingdom in the quicksand. if you could touch me, you would know me. i can wait forever, and for now, i'll laugh in silence.

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