The goat man said, "It's the beauty, not the ugly, that hurts the most."

For the blind man sees and tells no tales
of burning bush and carnal reds.

Feel the freak rise up to pound the night,
then turn and, beaming with delight, behold
the stars like diamonds scattered in his wake.

Fire the freaks who lay their dirty paws
on my eyes and stain my whitewashed
lenses.

Let the black holes leech off your dandelions
And the unicorns dance on your glass ears.

The piano plays, the music lies
and covers up the emptiness.

Look at me, brother - now and forever.
Did you make that call, or do nothing at all?
I know you didn't do it.
Why?
Because I know you.
Because I know you.
Because I know–
you.
Goodbye, brother.

Piss on my jeans, on my face, on my blood ridden shirt!
Know no bounds in your depraved dust enclosed artifacto-systems!
You’ll find no rhythm in the peace of the river–

–Just floating in the water as it moves towards
An ocean of infinite tone and brush, brush and tone…

From juniper grass to olive oil,
we mortar and pestle the shit
And mix it to make Beauty
in seeds that grow
and birds that fly
and minds that know.

Mopping away your majesty and your dust.
Scrubbing away the traces of your touch
and of your footprint on my face and on my heart.


My body falls.
My knees scream
for you to find me
here
again–


Can we ever say if or when
doors will open
windows will shut?


Will you give the fire
his (your) own children
to ravage and to burn
or to test and to redeem?
Who knows?

The sun rises on city and mountain,
but your tongue moves them all
and your eyes spurn the night.

Forget not the teaching of your fathers.

My lips may be as frosted donuts,
but they will one day be turtle doves,
longing to meet their match.

Enter a hazmat suit and a bottle of mace.

The dominoes fall too late.

Static.