The willing sink in their seats.
Pure elements rain on the few.
They are felt, inspired.
The air is too hot.
It is dreamed with steam and smoke.
Waking is consumed with the taste of ash.
The Phoenix appears in ultimate silence.
Insects and weather play in hiding.
It is no theft, distraction, or hiding,
yet imbued with meaning.
Blink and you will see.
“Only a small bit of sugar. Graze the flesh.”
She was out of control.
“The adult bookstore is two blocks down.”
“Thanks, we will take more juice.”
The waitress gave a grimace.
“Or was that a smirk”
I was blatantly high.
“It took away my power to think.”
“And what would you rather believe?”
“Well, why don’t we just leave it up to Travis”
“He is taking classes with that darned Jehovah’s Witness”
“The music is too loud in here”
“We could flip on the tube”
“I don’t like your taste”
“Fuck you”
The conversation has devolved and been repeated many times.
On couches.
Between walls.
There are instruments lying around,
pens, speakers, pillows, drinks, shoes, sandals, a tie and hat, camera, cigarette…
“Any color?”
“You are not so creative, the art in you has fallen all out of whack after your stint with that musician!”
“He wasn’t a musician…more like a theatre host for the oldest religion in all of mankind…money.”
There are heart attack shudders of breath in the audience, multiple elderly persons stagger out in shock.
“How may you be served tonight, Sir?”
“A fifth of your finest whisky and a choice cigar…please be in a rush!”
The man falls from leaning on the counter to revealing his belt line, throwing up his arms in fiery dismay.
“He appears to be on the edge of vomiting.”
“How pathetique!”
A soft exclamation marks the pathway of the old man,
he steps heavily
pulling in a near-catatonic state into his penguin-suit clothing.
All mimicked brain patterns are breaking
and the sparks of life are forming
like embryonic exoskeleton brine
The old man fights for his air
and footing.
“We perceive this as if it is really taking place”
“I…can’t…take…this…some…one…HELP!”
He croaks.
“There is a line that gathers outside of the cathedral today,
for a member of royalty has passed into the netherworld.
We have lost yet another of the empire‘s great leaders and conceivers.
Feel the impossible friction through the passageway into the beyond…
Poetic voices stir, rising with the afternoon,
as one of the humanitarian greats is so
…greatly, missed.”
The hospital setting drives home a maddening suspicion of human error.
There are indifferent army medics, our soldiers of health,
that surround technological masterpieces.
Two stunning works of horror art display themselves
like toy idols to the Babylonian gods that turned the world exodus
into a fly-swatting paranoia.
The tanks roll away.
All is calm
and the nuclear curtain backfires into the intelligence realm
in a hush.
Feb 19, 2010
L.A. apartment
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