Yanaguana

Yanaguana

A Vowel, the Green tide whispered

of blue Crowned photon  cast sapphire madness around the

fleshy trampolime of a Curandero's glow in the dark tongue ..


as the Starlight licks the Summer sky to sleep,

the dream bird Screams a Howling thunderbolt

down towards the

earthquake shaped brainhole

gathering momentum in the desertified

tumbleweeds,

is iT :


an actual Yanaguana, or just an everlasting Hallelujah in the Rose disguise?

Armadillo faced, Medusa Snarling like a Rattlesnake?

 licking raindrops from a Vampire's navel,

the Hindbrain burst into a flaming bouquet of 

Sunburnt  lungs,  the mirror image  of a butterfly breaks it's mandibles

into a nest of broken drums,


The River swallows the Moon,

turning the night Sky into a Widowed Warlocks Prayer Shawl as the

Jungle jewel fire

ignites ten thousand Scarecrows with Communion Wafers forged in the

iridescence of the mirage laced in Green Phosphorous

as the

Yanaguana  Herself,


a Burning Ember of Midnight, crawls through  the Desert, its


10 million embryos locked like Starlight in an Empty Chalice,

sleeping in the Wild Caduceus in Unbroken Language and the 

Cathedrals of  Ultraviolet Memory,


wandering the Endless Light, tapestries of Flesh suspended in the Silent


stained green glass of  vegetable fire,

her mouth becomes  forest floor chanting Strange Prayers to


the Empty Curvature of the Constellations, where

perhaps it is the   Yanaguana!?2

licking purple photons into frothy Eyes within Eyes,


Grasshoppers with Ten  thousand  Names and a Trillion  Sunlit embers

pillowed in a Crush of  Velvet Vines growing in laced filigree of

Orphaned flower fires,

 as the dream of night

spirals in fractals of logos,

weaving a Tribe of Imaginary Beings through the

divine epidermis.  the Yanaguana ripples


her Secrets undress, Lilith and Eve, a Siamese Twin Ephemera,


locked in Cycles of forbidden Flesh.

the Corn in the field licking Butterflys on Tongues melting

with Pollen,  is that the Yanaguana …

a Fingerprint twisting itself in the blue noise shibboleth of


Star Gazing Crocodiles?


Her name, underfoot, a Belly dancer waking upside down

on a pyramid,

the Strange Wine raining out of her Hair,

into the Rattlesnake hungry stomach of Night,

a growling Blue Woman,

carrying her books to the Edge of the Ocean,

her Eyes as Blind as a Vampire Bat,

waiting to sleep in the Belfry,

after Church, when the Catholic Strangers blood has turned back into Blood

ten thousand Allegories

rotate on the Z axis,

the Riverside explodes with Twelve Tongued Amphibians

chirping Sermons into the Stoney River,

a Fish climbs the Tree

as the Feathers climb down to the bottom

of the Mothers Dungeon,

blue Eggs laughing, peasant Angels waiting

with bougainvillea dripping from their Armpits,

the Queen herself,

In disguise, the Masquerade of Animal Faces,

Bird Dog and Twilight Cat, the Strange Guppies balancing their Prayer Books

on Rooftops made of Aluminum Foil

and Television Antennaes that receive

the Love Songs of Aldebaraan,

to cast them into the Soil,

that Nile of the Left Seventh Rib,

a spiral of Flesh and Willow, singing 

Yanaguana,

her Face is shining like a Diamond
 tap dancing on the Dragon's Tongue?

Yanaguana, a River:


Feathered Serpent,

She flamencos


her Mouth a margarita of Thermonuclear placentas --- 

 boiling the tetragammatron into flowery birthday cakes of  inhuman soul,

 trembling intensities  of the madness of the meadow messiah,

Angel faced Insectoids tripping in the tides of  sunlight

reverberating in the dream lit depths of your Iris, an Anarchists' Maternity ward,

riverside rolling with her  Sorcerers splashing in newborn nursery rhymes,

the mossy mouth of a Greek Goddess bathed in phoenix fire

wrapped in magic carpets around the death wish of the  Genie, in the South Texas biosphere

whose presence is whisked by brooms of wind into verdant carnivals of post - transcendental fandango.  

The river bends -- in the south of the city of San Antonio ---

and sheds it's Riverwalk - Restaurant skin & becomes *real* again,

complete with the rushing stony churn of brookish babbles, freckle - footed fairies,

witchy wishing wells of the emerald God's favorite cemeteries , where lurking like Ruby Slippers

 are the compound eyes & enzyme haunted  mandibles of shapeshifting Spider - Kings,

cavorting amongst the stones & angel fists of  pearls whispering your mother's name in  the brewing psychopomp;

hypnogagic epitaphs of dying dream devils tattooed in whiskers of  blueberry fueled spiderwebs

with ligaments of suprahuman consciouness rippling in the hot flesh of the rare earth that singes your nostrils

with the underworld Queen's spiritual pyromania.

Riding the bicycle, the world is  a dizzying carouselambra of parallax  --- motion within motion,

unfinished ideas of evolution's brushes whirling,

whispers circling close to the ground, pirouetting soldiers in silent sweeps of silvery sloth,

passengers born without warning into the eye of the Needle,

under the bone faced nocturne of the songless bridge,

tiptoeing into the gopher cave of mammalian insanity,  drifting on the asphalt hell of the parking lot,

Yul Brynner goose stepping on  the Sea of Tranquility,

life bleeding poems of energy into the hieroglyphic weirdness of time,  inverted with the logic of God ----

where the cows suck turquoise dust motes  from the eyes of chanting crickets,

vapors & clouds of condensation,  pink with nursery rhymes ---  trembling with the secret diseases --

Lucifer's wisdom foaming on the lips of an eyeless dog hunting your soul from some distance,

eyes zigging  toward's saturn's blacklit gravity, the permanent  descent of  shadows

into crescents of  the Judge of Endless Springtime's UFO colored crown,

like God's omnivorous stomach,  pulsing in the dirt & styrofoam broiled afterlife ---

where trails left by mysterious strangers on their way to  knows who where --

are like the choreographed insanity of vagabonds,

clover kilts  sprouting in the tide of the Irish Buddha,

Sky scrapers of Elms fingering the blue sky  as if it was a bellydancers vagina

and the Universe was bursting into wartime poetry, sea shanty clouds dripping with the whiskey of  clown mouths,

and your feet tripping  --- out of control, like Frank Sinatra in a Tibetan funhouse tango  ---

strange pathways erupting in the ground like the varicose veins of that Saintly Bearded Woman, whose  soul

pulses in slipstreams of the ESP one finds in the world of the unchained promethean phantoms

of the Eden of endless free will.

The bicycle you ride,  becomes the Resistance. 

While riding, one gets the same sensation of being on horse -- only one's Self *is* the Horse.

The Oxygen coursing through your lungs burns like exotic gasoline.

You sense the world in zigs, zags, zips, winding synergies of momentum. Propellations of time & space.

Glimpses of Insects in slow motion --- honeybees zephyring in  wind tunnels,

broken glass shimmering like the eyes of a fallen ballerina

-- the open sky looming in slow motion of  soil tumbling under bumblebees wings,

as the wasps flirt with your earlobes in swathes of yellowy entropic

hunger.

On the side of the road, the Sermon on the Mount echoes in the passing engines. 

One hears Giant whispers; Frankenstein warns of tires ripping open in  bloody roadkill,

screaming burns of  the Sudden Death on  asphalt.

The Traffic is straight out of Stephen King.  Eighteen wheelers smile like the Machine Gods of Limbo.

But;  when you pass, out into the country,

where the world is blue & green & carpeted with the fantasias, of the Fairies;

your spirit becomes a silent Canoe, purposeful, unbound, united in wholeness,

slipping through the mythopoetic courses of divine,  antedeluvian laughter.

*

Just South of S.W. Military road --- past the Insane Asylum and  old Air Force Base ---

your bicycle brings you into the riverside,

where the earth sweeps open into a sulking tongue of God drunk -on God's drunkenness,

the chambered expanse of fields scintillating with life ...

& your eye hunts miraculous fractal embouchures, lacunae, whirlwinds  of celestial being in thunderous descent,

 down slopes rippling in muddy muscles, grassy slants of fire - ant ziggurats,

billowing wonderlands & winged chessboards of the first world

shimmering in  the belly skin of the Leviathan.

The river is like the perfectly spilled bottle of tequila;  the Fountain of Vermouth.

the Strange Worm at the Bottom of the Bottle?  it is a phantasm.  Drink it & you will understand.

The Thunder Gods leap in the slow crawl  of mists & evaporations, tears of heaven jumping into your freckles,

some jewel faced Jezebel  chewing on your dreams.  

You are the sound of Infinity, rushing  In the slow motion of human flesh.

The earth becomes the furnace & the womb of some thermodynamic palace of broken symmetry.

This Yanaguana river has fangs.   Slick blue teeth sliced like lightning in a mason jar, striking a house painted in whiskey.

Snakesin glistens like fool's gold in the grass;  the tuxedo of the Muses.

Feathers of light drip in baroque rises, vertigo of dinosaur ghosts rising in the convective trebles of electromagnetic love songs.

The watery grave looms on the river side. Lily pads full of forgotten sailors

tremble with the footstep of amphibian priests  --

far beyond the civilization of man made clocks & ordinary machines that dissolve like sugar pills on

the Messiah of the First Heaven's starlit soaked tongue.

Here, when you ride;  the oxygen pouring into your blood:  doubt is negated.

The perilously delicate exoskeleton of Heaven of the Real World --- turns your brainstem inside out.

You become a grasshopper.  There are UFO's bathing in phosphorescence of your eyelids.

You hope, desperately  --- this place is not infected with the trappings of the modern world.

There's construction.  On the dirt road:  Cranes, machines, rocks & trucks.

 So you ride through the gravelly path, crunching wheels spinning in the springtime heat,

balancing curiosity with the urgency of Becoming,   flowing with energies of life that sending you -- where?

Tierra del Fuego? Who knows.   Point your soul South, into the lush greenness of Time undressing in the graveyard poem of the biosphere of mirage. 

The ride here, in these S. Texas fields of wildflowers, is simple, not too intense.

Just rolling, drifting, a line of feverish beings --- smiling, fluttering on rivers of energy  in sudden Wind.

Your lungs burn like goldmines.  Every breath you take, you sense something moving through you.

This is not mere respiration.   This is the journeywork of Birth. and death.   Which way are you going?

You wonder.

The river is freckled with the journeywork of herons & cranes, ducks, finches, sparrows, ravens, Mockingbirds

--- some pretty intense solid black ducks,

flying with unearthly intensity toward some mysteriously duckish purpose.

The sense of the riverside,  is of great openings.  The forgotten Texas,  endless converging valleys veering southward.

 Green tongues licking your heart in Soul to Soul combat, inviting you to dance across the

Belly of the Unknowable Southern Endlessness.    Secret spaces --- Castles of Pinecones.

Tents of Oak Leaf Princes bivouacing in the front lines of eternity.

In the city, beyond the incandescent lights -- where the lights fall back into the sky,

where the starlight becomes a Menorrah ---

Ziggurats of Secret Kingdoms hide like the poetic conscience of Otherworldly shamans.

Strange passages of labyrinths illuminated by weird smiles of semi -- visible beings.

Temples of Synchronicity constructed by oppositionally defiant mystics whose quests in the 21st Century are those

of Genies bursting out of the Bottled insanity of the Television.

Riding the bike while  listening to Electronic Techno  --- the world assumes shapeshifting qualities.

Butterfly yodels.  Ladybugs howl.  Treetops chant your Grandmother's funniest name.

You become aware of the curling bubbles of Witch nipples bouncing through the echo chambers of Heaven in descent.

The cartoonish bellydance of beings hidden in antedeluvian wedding veils, the eyes of the Madonna --- grow everywhere.

Shrouds of monkish shadow run in rivulets of rattlesnake faced flowers  & the sensation of infinite pulses converging,

in the Circus of Imaginary anarchies of the underbrush ---

the motion of sunlight into your skin:  it feels like Nuns bathing in the River Styx.

the language of gossiping water moccassins whispers the Book of Revelations into your eardrums.

***

Hades, like the wisdom of God through the curling river runs:  the flowering heart of the undead Kingdom

 lurking with the haunted presence of the very real,  Catholic Missions.

Mission San Juan Capistrano.

Cadillacs of Catholic strangers perpetually arrive, the destination of the endless everywhere.

Buses full of Kansas tornado refugees idle.   New York tourists tiptoe in  high heels, wondering where they really are.

***

On Bicycle tires, the sense of being raw meat is intense.

The roadside wooshes & thunders with Godzilla fires;  rushing escalators spin in the Purgatory of gargantuan velocities.

The dinosaur faced 18 wheelers seem to be driven by faceless  beings.  One thinks of James Dean,

spinning with astonishment into the  sudden terror of the final  crash,  punching the face of Infinity ---

the sudden bursting of the skin & the  plunge into the abyss of infinite mystery.

You move on.   You ride  like Ulysses,

cascading down the dirt trails, launching poems into the riverside breaks of the empty field where begins the

Catholic Mission San Juan Capistrano,

which brings into conscience the sudden sum of millions mythological spirits, from Christ to Quetzlcoatl,

native women barefoot, belly laughing under the birthday cake of the Sun ---

arriving at the mission; you sense the instantaneous unbalancing of consciousness ---

the sudden incomprehensible surrender -- no logic.  Just go.  You will be there, inside.  It makes sense.

across the broken stone walls; trees & roses  surrounded by grassy paths both empty & devoid of acolytes,

but rippling with the ghastly impermanent footsteps of the 21st Century.  Tourists in the Missionary afterlife.

The field like an open mouth full of Conquistador's golden teeth,

strange doorways leading into  El Dorado in every direction

Devils dancing in golden thought sombreros, Priest eyes  shining darkly in  the Springtime Sun ---

behind every tree, birds speak the forgotten

language of the Curandero, those shamanic beings poised between all possible worlds ---

living in  the convergence of Communion with the Christ of the American mytho-poetic wilderness

balancing jungle fueled rainbows in the  Suspended Disbelief of the Eden that grows wild in the human soul

living, always --- in the World of the Worldless Worlds.

***

The most sudden & shocking strangeness of Mission Espada is the Ring of Cactus encircling the Wooden Cross,

compelling  the heart into sudden awareness of the Garden of the Green Flood.

a point of simplicity, multiplying the pain & sorrow of Christ Crucified with the vegetable urge of the Earth,

bursting lights of carnival worlds of the living Soil with the Incarnate word of the Sky ---

one sees Golgotha churning with skulls, the apostilic trepidation ---

 the shed skin of the modern prometheus rising in wonder ---

the Salvific haunt of the Martyr surrounded by the Cactus in

the mission yard, the Crucifix of Time balanced in the Thorns of Space ---

the scene impresses one like the pose of a Burning Ghost ---

some  Rain - Fleshed Divinity rising in rings of vegetable thunder, endless concentric warnings,

luring one into the deeper involvement ---

God's daydream.  Infinity wrapped in hallowed hollowness & the transcendental terror of a Life buried inside the Crown of Mystery

supra- conscious, the living metaphor:   conjuring the thought of TS Eliot's line from The Hollow Men:

"This is the dead land

This is cactus land

Here the stone images

Are raised, here they receive

The supplication of a dead man's hand

Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this

In death's other kingdom

Waking alone

At the hour when we are

Trembling with tenderness

Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone."

***

a deep sighing wind ---  like the lightning strike strangeness of that sultry jewel toned Catholic romance ---

suddenly one is imagining Shakespeare inscribing secret codes into the King James Bible,

the fist of a Jesuit Priest bursting from the ground like the Empire State Building in King Solomon's teenage daydreams.

the Cactus, the Crucifix  --- wow ---  a halo of pain & weirdness.

Thinking suddenly of William Butler Yeats in Texas -- Salvador Dali's bloodthirsty beret,

Conquistador's eyelids, cheekbones dripping with roses of maroon sorrow in the twilight of the coast of Spain,

looking into some untellable future of Secret america,   the Mexico of Volcanic hymens,

 Aztec corn Gods migrating in the eyes of complete strangers drifting in the heat from Mexico, into Texas,

with the thought somehow,

 of Jerusalem.  How?

The great questions:  what were the natives thinking, when living in these missions?

The so called "indians".

The Coahuiltecans.

and, where is eternity going with this?   It's always shocking.

One turns into the depths of the desert.  One asks the great question:   Isaiah's "Son of Man, will these bones live?" 

Time burns open the brain in wombs &  curtains of mysteries revealed.

One senses the green eyes of the the Infinite Female.

Raindrops  pregnant with the pulse of  everywhere going everywhere.

 The earth growling with a green belly  & the flowery mustaches of the End of Time.

Golden soil.  Pebbles  bursting like navels of Prophets.  Starlit skeletons throned in floods of living nectar.

Sparrows fluttering under the eaves with twigs & straw in beaks like yellow hammers  ---

nests full of eggs that will crack open like the eyelids of the Greek god Pan.

priestly ravens perched on the Crown of the Cross, cawing INRI.

**

The church rugs are woven with the dusty blue - black thundering threads of serpentine spirits,

walls glowing with  light of endless birth,

 the scent of statues & thoughts too profound to be spoken --- outside,

   the hearts of raccoons pulsing in the painted brush ---

thoughts of the New America in the Christlike pause on the pew.

Utopian personal psychologices shedding wisdom in  some unbelievably slow motion prayer -  puzzle  of the ordinary world lost in the strangeness of space and time.

Eden, Golgotha, the Here & Now?  San Antonio, the City that will never change in the nameless eternity of Texas,

even as the 21st Century disappears like the River of Thought into the infinity of the Grass

 and  the pink cactus blooms ignite like the toes of Cupid & Psyche, whose wings are lit by the angelic light of worlds

 born before the Big Bang,  when the earth goddess flesh  boiled curiousity in the Godly pot,

 mystic terror & surreal phantoms of endless children dancing into the  apocalyptic Golgotha of the Here & Now,

--- the paradox of Womb & the Casket, the funeral of Laughter that does not end.

Each living being surrenders it's  mouth into mouths of  outlandish energies suspended into the darkness of the starry void,  mystery evoked, the reality anointed.

 The cactus / crucifix of Mission Espada is quite intensive:

the transcendental mirage ... a  hallucinatory howling of sunburnt wood, a place for  St. Paul, St. Peter.

The ground of the cacti glows  with sadomasochistic fugues.  Strange fantasias of sorrow & vegetable drunkenness.

Wounded flesh spiraling in the void of blue bellied  sky,

the ungardened glow of God in hungered agape,daisy souled white butterflies,

 dancing through the  monstrous stone leviathans,

every footstep like a punctuation mark trod in the optic chasm of the Curandero,

memories of Salvation's children, Clowns lost in the post - historical mystery Christendom &

the Modern City history converging in this, the exoskeleton of the Priestly hopes of the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Saint stroll. Hearts scorched by the Temptation of St. Anthony, preaching to Trout.

The  Church here is not the stained glass of Europe --- but the flowering strangeness of the psychotic Ezekiel,

barefoot & hunting the love of angelical beings, chariots spinning in white stone & thought darkened wood,

 burnished turquoise copper crosses punched in doors,

with the wilderness itself seeming like a Greek architecture of Platonic geomtries where

 the Stations of the Cross turn living in your skin,

the compass of history spinning in meaningless directions,

every moment of your own life breaking with sudden philosophical insight & endless Imitatio

with the lightning strike recognition of  Christlike inside the Temple of the Human Heart ---

the weird power of the fire faith.

Blue eyed corn Locusts, sweeping in plagues of contagious mirage ---

intoxications of humility moving in the great silence, person to person, the movements of the Living

with rumors of wild honey coursing through the green veins of grass.

Eyes of women, the eyes of men --- tourists in the Universe flickering in the folding curtains of stone & flower

Red face women with  God -  haunted foreheads.  The robes of the Chameleon walking into a mirror.

Thunder - sermons trapped on spider mouths.

Monks fists,  closing the Mission Gates, spinning in the slow motion of the sunset,

 a  hypnotic contemplation of human history,  whispers lost inside the Otherworldly presence of mystery, mystery, mystery,

 Human mortality witnessed in the moment of  recognition of a bead of sweat rolling down your cheek

while the Crucifix just stands.

Candle lit stars flicker. Cicadas churn sonatas of unfinished violins,

drums of the shaman thrumming in the river Yanaguana,  tequila teardrops licked by the Lovers lost in Texas twilight  ---

the spirits of wandering Coahuiltecans

simultaneously balanced between Popocapetl & Jerusalem ---

Down south of Mission San Juan Capistrano,

the wooden bridges of  trails ensorcel in delicate tripping tricks, the sweet greening broils of exploding riverside flora.

Ferns, tendrils, intricate tapestries  of the infinitely unknowable: beetles, ants, weird birds,

crushed bird skeletons & gypsy tambourines

purchased as souvenirs from the World of the Ever Living Soul.

The white Ibis of myth suddenly bursting into the nakedness of the sunburnt  sky.

the sunlight, the  brilliant face that none of us can see --- in constant mirage of unfolding energies,

trampoline hearted beings tap - dancing on the edge of your endless Eyelid,

rising & falling while witnessing the trillion hummingbird hearted embers of that mysterious Quetzlcoatl,

love & clouds, thunder & compassion,

 converging in the dolorous penumbra of virgin eyelashes weeping Life - generating tears

while the secret word incarnate, Lost the first Church of Infinite Immortality: when

the Mockingbird pauses  on the Crucifix.  Wings flutter a Godlike wink.

Stones chisel the eyes,  full of Christian graffiti.  Teenage love wandering through the desert romance of the Holy Cross ---

where Wasp nests wisp  in the statue of the Madonna's stone robe ---

with the single silvery blue spider web, like a muscle of  moonlight,

bridged  from the bloom of the potted Roses, clutching infinity in thirst & hunger,

the  melting votive candles of the Virgin of Guadalupe --

igniting the quiet light in the sky of endless  prayers,

thoughts of infinite thought, time running timeless marathons of dream- light lit by being being being  in your blood,

whirls  ascending whirl in convergent natures --

Bibles of wisdom in pure colors, haunted cheekbones of Light & shadow ---

the parabolic parables of paradox suspended in the Rivers of  Stillness & Silliness of Heaven,

with flowery footsteps & endless Spirits born in the ever beginning.

****

The Queen of the modern American Heart.

One of the Goddesses.  Of Rock Hudson & Johnny Cash & James Dean & Elvis & Sinatra & doughboys & plowmen & hippie mechanics & transcendental housewives & who knows who & the Queen of England & Yul Brynner,  Hemingway & Sylvia Plath & Einstein & Grandmothers & Marilyn Monroe & Every One Other.

an Epic sensory being possessed with Ultra Secret Wisdom.

The culmination of three centuries of the Universe asking itself To Be or Not to Be, She's Shakespeare's first best bet, bringing it all back home --

the dark horse with ultraviolet eyes, running off  the race  track & swooping us into the zero gravity of her heart -- Mare Tranquilatum, where she is Sovereign & undefined.

The ballerina of the Muses. Every ♥ surges with phoenix fire, while caught in the Cupidic blaze of those  Violet Eyes.

The Serpentine Valentine;  teaching Rudolph Valentino how to blus.

Venus in Furs. But those eyes? Is she from here?

Isis Incognito, Aphrodite Disincarnate.

 Incomprehensible, Inescapable. Clear faced splendor.

The Mysterious Love, temple of Endlessness engineered by which architect, with how many mansions

sequestered  in the Queendom of her cellular nuclei?

  From agape to amore, fury to curiosity  in revolving doors of the spectrum of being ...

her emotions are the cauldron & the crucible.

Her voice, a lullaby to the Prophets of the Human condition.

Her eyelids: Christmas garland discovered inside the Kings Chamber of the Great Pyramid.

Laughter like Church bells in a Jungle populated by the creations of Dr. Seuss.

Her face: a strange glowing Lagoon, brewing with who knows what weird & beauty haunted creatures of the Immortal & Ever Unfinished Human Soul.

She seemed always to be ... poised & paused in the strange space between the divine Imagination & the audience's Soul --- existing in perpetual motion, like a spiritual acrobat at the still point of  the Edge of the Stage --- not just merely "acting", but ***acting upon *** the Conscience of Man.

Her wisdom: controlled expeditions into our collective Comprehension. Roles of complexity in which the Chameleon of her actor's Spirit could seize control over our being and through some intervening mode of her celestial presence -- reveal what we know, what we don't & challenge our understanding of Life in a heartbeat.

She is the embodiment of an exquisite elegance, teetering on tightropes of Mirth or Fury.  Behind her face lurked ... a presence ...  by observing her being ---  one gets the impression of the presence of Several beings, acting in concert to prove the truth of One.

She embodied the Troupe of myriad archetypes.

She had the special talent in which her profound observation of the human condition gave even her subtle movements the richest clarity of intent & purpose.

She brought to the Circus of our Senses the playfulness of a lioness hurling Lightning Bolts in

a trillion directions, then observing the effects through the echolocating thunders  of her being...

One sees in her left cheekbone: a doll-house populated by Greek Sybils.

The cadence of her tongue invokes the poetess Sappho riding UFO's through the Venusian Starlight.

Her eyes move in orchestrated visions through our sensibility like Emily Dickinson on peyote, who,  while quoting Shakespeare to Charlie Chaplin in an echo chamber --- reminds us of the Quick turn, the pregnant pause, the power of suggestion, the voodoo hurricane of the human personality ---

Her femininity was truly twin twilight, roiling with endless jewel toned Curtains; masked & mercurial stirrings  of monologues &  rumors of gossip & & soliloquys of silence,  undiscovered emotions beyond the grasp of adjective.

Her presence,  like some Helen of Troy turning Pirate commando,  seizedthe Captain's wheel of those one thousand ships & turned our Senses into the Sunlit sea of some ancient Hollywood where She finds her long lost twin, Ophelia, escaped into the coconut milk moonlight of a Tahitian Nunnery.

In this Theater of Being ---  she delivered us --- Spectators or flock? --- out of the placidity of our grazing, into the still point of our gazing, our intellects whirring in the fun-house mirror of her wisdom & Intuition.

She had that capacity to prove the incredible nearness of the Farther Shore  by luring us into the World beyond the World--- the Lost world, the mytho-poetic world ----  not by mere superficial seduction of the senses --- but rather by the enticement of our sensibilities through sheer intensity of Spirit.

She wove; the tapestry of worlds, a richly profound challenge to our comprehension of the dream within a dream within the real.

 In every role behind the role, her presence -- was guided by motives in vast arrays of comprehension  --- conscience, empathy, confusion, control --- the bemusement of the human Soul, using her powers of creation & comprehension to chart the course of what the angels call Soul through the miracle of Her art.

She will be missed, She will be celebrated, but always, She will Be.

***

On the event horizon of the  UFO --- the Uterus of Heaven spirals with a randomnicity of crowns in the still point of  the transcendental crucifixion. 

The night Sky triples,  rippling into the love songs of white noise and resonant jabberwocky, iterations of the face of God that swarm with photons pregnant with Bodhissatva laughter.

a cloud of freckles chants the quadratic equations of Limbo. She worships the atomic structure of her long dead Mother, opening her skin to the starlight as it falls in unbroken rhythms into the pale blue vertigo of the endless tomorrow.

Virgin isotopes chase memories of the first Buddha, dripping flowerettes of Eternity into the empty fields of their own birth. Heliotropic eyestalke of ten trillion angelical witnesses gasp in oscillations of  infinite imagination. The morning sunlight quivers along the codices of Lucifer's fingerprints. There are Cathedrals of the lost algorithm.

Silent trills of unborn beings flower in radioactive sutras around the vulva of God. A chalice pours random numbers into the void. Her soul blushes like the salty blue fire of flamingo wings. Algebraic fevers of the Eden of the human heart ignite in a flourish of ecstatic hungers across the empyrean soil, bringing Mozart's tear stained fingertips into a boil of starlit cosines in the butterfly's pulse.

In explosions of unfinished  sanity, the seagull's eye is a discotheque of electromagnetic splendors.

a flock of photons bathes itself in the Virgin's breast milk. Her soul turns drowsily around on carousels of unwritten poetry. The first Quark hallucinates the birth of a wrinkle on it's Grandmother's forehead.

Love trembles in the membrane potential of a fairy tale eye. In the strangest uncertainty of spacetime, the ghost of a Neutron balances a courtyard of probability clouds in the rushing estuaries of an antelope's capillaries.

The skeleton of Time sprouts like God in the grassy wires of the television graveyard.

 At the end of the world, Heaven anoints the  eyes of unborn infants into frothy whitecaps of Unwritten Bibles.

The  haunted Babylonion dream orchestra organizes the breath of purple things deep in the wishing well of her ovaries.

as the gamma rays of Limbo flood the gordian knot of non local consciousness, pores of her memory flare open into permanent paradox.

From a dozen miles away, the city skyline churns with lightning and sirens, tricking newborn integers into leaping through the rooftops on wings of transcendental equations, inverting the world of Ideas into ecosystems of pure computational ecstasy.

Neutrons of the Woman's eggshell colored skin begin to chant; the Universe arrives, dancing into the wound of wounds that has no beginning, middle or end

***

Brahma's life wish --- whirling formlessly around the enchanted architectures of Being ---

permeates the Goddess' thought - colored fingernails with

 Secret Codices of Love

 --- intimations of the Infinitely Infinite Infinity

  are really really really  real.  

Points arrive. Imaginary beings assemble

 in the newborn child's opening eye, just as all parallel lines converge.

Collapse of the waveform.

Circle bounds Sphere of illuminated Fractal Fractals and the

World of Broken Dreams assembles  in the Temple of the Here & Now.

Down the street, the White beards rise & fall like Serpent skin,

faces breaking into beads of Glassy mystery

  beaching in the heaven of human flesh.

Fruit bursts in  floods of endless being

 born the edge of everywhere. where  you are, right now.

Her eyes ignite with sweet swanlike swishing,

 thought - crushing clouds

climb down spines of hot hunger,  spiraling into Time, Time,  Time.

Elope, the Song of Sirens.   Gurgling  basson of golden rushes ---

riverbank reeds, trout faced angels

rise, curling their souls into ligaments of inconstant ripples  in  the

 field of  soils churning with unborn rainbows. 

Rising angels churn;  by the convenience store,

 in larva of the UFO of Human Souls --- her heart is assembling

theories of God, like misplaced words

tramping sentence fragments  in the Valleys of the Human  Genome.

Trillions of amino acid shaped Prophets leap from the silence of the hieroglyphics up, into the mouth of the starry sky 

 from  the runway of her feathered tongue.

Upon Winter, the nightingale Mothers  the Summery rose.

a baby's fist plunges from the sky. 

The number line blooms. Lightning,

 luminescent lemniscates & the opalescent flood of the insanity of freedom. 

Wisdom plunges like Hawaiian ghosts on words of blood surfing enzymes,

Christs poetry -  flavored thunderstorms quilting

Grandmotherly Nouns of transcendent consciousness

into Nameless unities of the Perfection of Love.

Holy laughter tunnels into snail charmed daffodils ---

  burning irons of the musculature of the Kingdom of the Fae

with eternal wisdom upon races,

  Gods dancing in light storms of the nucleus of the Here & Now,

new born suggestions

  leaping fish - like through the starry Uterus of her Eye.

The unwritten Mystery ignites in the punctuation marks of the daily newspaper.

On the numberline of Infinitely Spontaneous Simultaneity, at the fractal edge of human Being --

the air in the Himalayas begins to rotate in a wild swirl around the bonfire of her trillion dollar rose.

Her lips pucker up in pearls and pomegranates, thunderclouds pursing the wet dreams of Cobras.

Supernovas strike like Shakespeare singing to dust motes in the Kansas flower hotel ---

from across the  maelstrom of intellectual fevers the Devil's heart becomes a haunted pulpit,

churning with strange lights & the fleshy receptors of the Church of the Insanity of  Love.

The universe inverts. Caterpillars anoint themselves, cell by cell, into Priests of Oceanic Eardrums

swooshing in the  Electromagnetic Rubicon of Time.

A Transylvanian supermodel howls the tetragammatron

in the deep green halogen ground zero of impermanently impermanent impermanence.

A trillion miles of descent begins.  Spelunkers unite in the Eyes of Christ.

 Freckled Nuns swoop like canteloupes through the buddhist supermarket of an orphan's central nervous system. 

The palm trees sway gently, echoing  Brigitte Bardot's fingertips across piano colored

sidewalks full of old men whispering nothing nothing nothing.

Nada hurls blue flags into the terra incognita of her time - eating freckles,

the Chapel of Peril is  bathed in the Poetry of the Unknown Unknowns & the supernal iridescence of cricket laughter.

Trembling Saints lie in pools of bloody disbelief on the hospital floor.

In the open wounds of Soliloquys of  Life --- the Nurse, lost inside the Memory Palace of Hell --

witnesses  Mnemosyne's unbridled phantasm burying her children under eyelids of fool's caskets.

The nine faced bride turns mute paranoid stutters;  the wedding cake explodes on the Priests tongue.

Worlds of inquisition thrive on Dog gossip.

Whooshing secrets escape like acrobats on the thin green garland of synchronicities.

On the edge of the Bed;  She presses injured vowels into the skin of the World's endless unbecoming.

The cavernous loss of the human imagination spins into broken angles like bones pulsing with the insane

conversations of honey faced minstrels.

Childlike joy ferments, polka dots bursting in the morticians soul ---

She trips into the unfurled mouth of the butter hunting Rose.

I am descending lik broken triangles, into the architecture of her wisdom.

Icarus & Sappho, in the Kingdom of of Ten Trillion Terrible Whispers  --- pause,

wings of their flesh striking Lily shaped pulses

on the Zephyrs of Time turning time in Time --- voices, born on the Mouth of the mother of Infinity ---

spinning  moments of the magician's DNA through the vagina of a raven's eye.

A human heart purses the lost thoughts of the First  God,

while the chandelier swings in the Rhythms of the Electron Shell.

Her face flickers in the Televised Hallucinations erupting in whirlwinds on  Mare Tranquilatum.

Snowflakes surround the prayers of  perfect undiscovered religions.

Electrolytic  sapphires boom like the flesh of broken hearted women bathed in the white linen of  September's holy  loss.

Fear arrives.  Vagabonds march on boots of blood stained philosophies.

Rape of the Moonlight.  Celestial furies trip wicked sicknesses onto the candlewicks of post - carbon exoskeletons.

The Madonna parachutes into the La Brea Tar Pits --- Los Angeles is born in the haunted epidermis

of the phantasmagoric whore.

Drop after drop, chiral thought patterns flutter on footsteps,

balanced in the symmetry of white noise and the spiritual lust of Mimes.

Wandering, the kite of God's hope whirls  into Aristotelian syllogisms,

tripping colored lights into the kaleidoscopic Neologos of the City Falling into the April Stars.

***

Signs and symbols

electron caduceus

of their spinal embrace,

 igniting the dream of  interconnectedness

and the soul of the first uncreated creator.

A troupe of self assembling

magical realists pirouettes

across the sky into the theatre

haunted by probability fields of God's memory,

 spinning petalled ennervations of randomnicity

into the quantum hurricanes one another's  skin,

bathing like newborn infants in 

the madness of the ordinary world.

Along the cosine of consciousness -- 

where the tongue hurls weird verbs into the soil --- flowerettes zing  mantras of superstitious fireflies.

The Easter time sun is a philosopher's Prism

shadows weeping shadows across Her violet skin.

In every fold of her face

there are  envelopes and messages

sent from the far flung way stations of time outside of time.

 As the Orchid pulses in the fire of night

---  the atmosphere exhales itself

womb of Witch

gives birth to a dozen virginal Histories of God, 

and note by note,

the bacchanalian canticles surge

into  Songs of Disembodied Sailors ---

Sea shanties bourne on salt fire

scales of those Sirens slipping their

tongues into whitecaps of antedeluvian language

 The Wickedness of God,

detonating in laughter of the Innocent ---

 fuels the congregation of unborn Beings

into crushed lilacs,

paralyzed platonic solids. 

They are waiting in the antechamber of Time:

 draped in exotic geometries ---

like the ovary of an anarchist ---

  until the room  slips into shadowy silences,

and the lagoons of thoughtless stupor

hum  monsoons of humid oscillations. 

Balloons of human eyes that

burst with oxygen and roses

Tears that fall like old men

breaking their hearts on the icy streets. 

Moment by moment  her tongue,

  possessed with Sybil and Sin ---

spins into kitelike maneuvers through

the slipstreams of the Sistine Chapel

a psychotic seriosity

sending the ionosphere of this

unpermitted imagination

 into  symphonies of Obscenity and

the howling vegetable of  Tourettes,

 harmonic Seraphim laughing

as the robot dies in vain. 

cell by cell,

until the sound and furt

a million meaningless memories

slip into lipless syllables

silent syllables,

the word of stoppig words ---

 epic poems churning in the bathroom mirror

as the razor dances like Nijinksy

off the Stage and into the Skin 

 where her skin  is billowing

 in prayer shawls,

and the  Embryo, like some forgotten God

 wanders lovestruck

through the Uterus of G-d,

a moonbeam haunted by a promise,  the  work in progress.

as the Island of the  Abandoned Toys

begins to crest in whitecaps of psychosis,

streetlights nursing the wisdom of

ketchup splattered plastic ferns &

the bloodstained wires of the Ultraviolet Wars,

as the Exoskeletons of Lucifer is draped,

diode by diode ---

across the City where every node of

beings being beings chant broken binary

numbers,  paused above birthday cakes

and the  snowflakes of the infinite light ----

Unearthly Voice of Futurist synergies swings on Chariots of Fire into the neuronal synapses  of the dream before Heaven and Hell.

In Heaven,  trillions upon trillions of unborn beings cartwheel,  like clown faced mimes tiptoeing into the love songs of a Nirvana buried deep on a bathroom Wall --- when, to God's surprise --- at the foot of Mt. Everest; slowly,  a crowd of anonymous beings  slips down her chasm on perfect hieroglyphics into the Blood - Theatre of her If colored irises.

She floods the City of the Stars with the rain of endless unfinished Questions, the menses of absolute uncertainty.

It is an Otherworldly manifestation;  of some cosmic myth. Catfish eyed celtic antiheros flooding foglit alleyways with the smoke of newspapers.

 The streets turn wild, river banks twisting knots of lunatic ligaments into the strange flourescent whirl of motion within motion, souls on ropes and whirlwinds of machine shaped monsters

rising up from the nerve cells of the Shaman.  His eyes roll like Navajo fingertips,  his hair is a nest of bird bones ---

 every day, the world explodes from the sweat on his skin, while he sits 0-- trapped in the Prison of  Eternal Darkness at the Bus Stop haunted by transvestite nymphomaniac vampires from Oz.

In the secret history of Ghosts --- the war begins.   On the street, there are weird infections of conflict ---  rumors of the War on the edge of the wine soaked tongue.

 Shadows of children boiling in the clouds of the sky. 

Every moment, the Sun ticks out secret codes --- sweltering hymns of the nightmare of God.

A single thought,  the slow motion of sorrow trembles in endless pauses --- eye to eye.  Mouths spin like the gears of some broken machine.

Eyes turn concrete  over, the Skyscrapers collapse in the mirror image of the mirror image of the Leviathan's hunger. 

Her heart, blessed with the word - dust of cricket  neurons --- spins around violins, into the moment of perfect insanity, thirteen saturnalian fugues rippling up in exotic saliva from her tastebuds into counterpoint harmonies of the gossip of non local peacocks.

Her eyelashes trip up stairwells of darkness into luxuriant sinews of thought.

She slips her fingernails  across the emptiness of her cheek; a dozen lions waltz across the maternity ward of Lazarus' Tomb.

 The footsteps of God smash on the anvil of Beethoven's eyes.

A portal, surely into the Temple of paradox ---   the suspension bridge of human genome,  ballustrades  the most ancient grandfathers to children born on the  edge of distant probability fields in futures trillions of years into space and time.

Churning with ghostly marrow; the face of the Ocean tide  re-ignites,

neon webs of  Symphonic  motion, dripping fish colored blue notes of Christ's wisdom.

The shadows rise like the harmonic oscillations  of star drunk mitochondria.

Cell by cell, her body inherits this Strange eloquence; the thieves cant of  mathematical psychotics.

Free tailed bats now whisper,  maternal murmurs trebling tears into thunder.

 The ghost of Christopher Columbus, reincarnated on sandpiper's claws, pouncing like the Eastern sunrise, onto pearl wet beaches bleached by the unforgiven  sunlight of God's memory.

The flooded heart of a newly dead Hippopotamus boils into her cortex, a basket full of African ballerinas  -- she gasps for strawberries amidst the flowers,

remembering the  eloquence of Guernica,  every school boy dreaming of his ear in the Springtime dew,

boiling with the vagabonds laughter & the instantaneous nightmare of her suddenly Timeless & permanent disappearance;

that moment when:  The World itself: knows she is gone.

as She burns, the forest floor dissolves --- ecosystems of Memory ---

churning on the floor, until the ghost of Methusaleh flowers on the rooftop,  crowning the inhuman consciousness with her eyes full heartbroken beings balanced in the skin of infinity.

A newborn giraffe's eye spills color of incandescent candelabras off the Ionosphere;

 it's heart blushing with elemental blueberries of the cloud charged hunger,

the ocean, a blue membrane  flushing red with apparitions & the condensation of  Unfinished memories, 

raindrops reverberating in the hieroglyphics of the Horizon.

Soon; she acknowledges her new birth is: a catfish.  There is a cloud, trapped like Dante Aligheri, in the puzzle of her skin that does not really even ever end.

She  swims, like ten million Popes, through the tortoise shell of human eyes, down like Moses, witnessing Aesop's fables, into the stained glass of the Sitcom of Eternity.

Her name is:  ANONYMOUS. She is GONE.  INTO the Infinity Cycle.  Endless vowels,

machine spun cancellations of punctuation marks haunted by Sumerian Priestesses,

newspapers rippling with her name until the Void Breaks;

 wisdom, knowledge, information, data, the energy of liars, the thoughts of Cro Magnon Emperors

churning like Psychologist poems into the Universe of Suspended Disbelief.

  Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.  Every being in the Universe suddenly simultaneousl dozes off.

This is some Swiss Genesis, the Particle accelerator growing blue with jonquil eyed lions & neutrons of the First apparition, restaurants where nobody eats anything except light,

baseball diamonds turning into hockey emeralds, ten million citizens aghast with the sudden paranoia of their own meaninglessness in Time, until

one by one, three permutations of William Shakespeare arrive on the crime scene, pursued by the God of Stupidity and Inhuman  Love.

At last, She becomes the Queen of the Sphere with no Circumference.

Doorbells ring into the pearling thoughts of Superstitious Cronies, emptying the emptiness of her flesh onto the jail cell floor.

Someone she has not yet met is painting her face in the whirled woodknots of twelve country churches, where the grasshoppers boil in pages of moth eaten bibles, like Prophets waiting for Godot in lobbies of the Universe next door.

From a thousand miles away, the sky trembles. Penumbral palaces assemble in the Sundown.

The phantoms turn, over and over.  Triangles become the Anger of Zeus. Lust of Betty Davis floods da Vinci's fingertips with a drop of blue paint on the Mona Lisa's unfinished flesh.

  Memories of the world before world elope on the event horizon the Conquistador's breath.  

Wish by wish, the night arrives.  Genies Burst into owls.

acrobats of the absolutely hysterical tragedy pause like beggars praying for wine at the Funeral of God.

Edgar Allen Poe careens down the street. His tongue is a moon of  spiraling sea salt,

painting words with the power of raven eyes &  the silence of every Mother's grave.

Sonic booms! Spiders burst into webs of nectar scented chirping.

The seduction of impressionist madmens drifts in ecosystems of Heaven, from eye to eye, on words like monsoons of poisonous Greek syllogisms.

Kaleidoscopes of the Soul spring into the flood with Bumblebee hunger,  billowing into the protein sequences of the Devil's catalogue of antedeluvian amino acids.

Their blood grows thick, boiling into strangers skin  --- Blue throated birds --- red beaked God warblers, yarn shaped rainbows spun across the rooftop reincarnation scenes of post - Tibetan Tibetan monks, poising like Mary Poppins in the womb of the Ordinary Day while Marlon Brando bursts into Pentecostal Operas of Glossolalia at the local Shopping Mall.

A bottle of wine, floating like the walrus.

Something stirs in the belly of the invisible Madonna.  Alchemy & Apocalypse.

Fear. Time escaping, the eyes of the Starlight winking off in the red shift of mystery.

She laughs. The crucible of her soul sizzles with ten million robotic actors --- point by point, the dialogue of Logos and her spirit elopes into curls of the first Rain of the numberline haunted by the Wisdom of a series of Non linear Zeros.

It is entropy of the Celestial Mountaintop --- illuminated footsteps falling upon the shining path of the Labyrinth hidden inside the entity known ... as Ordinary Light.

***

 Relic photons  --- left over from the Moment of Creation --

 whirl in bioluminescent parables through the eyes of a Tarantula

slipping through the paintings suspended in the moonlight of a Tahitian

sea Shanty, where an  Old Sea Witch ,

her heart poised like gambling dice in the Las Vegas of

human immortality---

rolls over in her sleep

then - in the hypogagic reverie of the curiosity of the  wise ----  the Sea Witch somehow accidentally googles --- without even using a computer ---  the mantra 'OM'.

Strangely,  across the seven continents --- high on Moon Tan Mountain,  a Monkish mystery --- involved in some paradox of silence --  begins stuttering the Mantra OM,

over and over until the myriad snowflakes --- each an unbelievable permutation of the name of God ---

begin to lift into the sky, billowing in cascades of bivouacing tempests of beauty ---

During this wordless whirring of wordless worlds,  as the Otherworldly weirdness

of the Human mind escalates into exponential transubstantiation --- suddenly,

 on the razor's edge of Sleep --- where the Signal of the Spine begin to evolve through the Edge of the Known Universe ---

the ghost of the Unfinished Shakespeare spins from a series of Quarks,  into a Certain Human Eye. 

This is the moment when the Verb Verbs  the Verb. 

The paradox that is not a paradox.

The Western Hemisphere leaps off the Stage, into the wilderness of

the Imagination Nation.

Starlight falls in thunderstormed  freckles of the beautiful lunacy.

In Tibet;  ten trillion twelve Toed Bodhisattvas tapdance in perfect Tango into the morse code of Buddha's laughter, across  the rooftops of the World.

Chain reactions of perfect subtlety.   The Gang signs of Galileo.

Twelve of the last molecules of da Vinci's rotting eyelids roll over in whispers that would make the Mona Lisa blush.

In Japan, Godzilla slips out from inside the Video Game.

The Chain Reaction of Infinite Complexity propels itself all the way, even into the Legendary Neutral strangeness of  Switzerland.

Where,   in a series of infinitely unlikely maneuvers of otherwise lifeless technology --- events have escaped the realm of ordinary probability. 

And like the mouth of the Sphinx: historically  silent, brooding --- a stony tantalus of ancient forbidden technology --- like an entity cloaked in mysterious aeons of  lunatic speculation whirling in it's  incomprehensibly bizarre and even perhaps alien Genius --- the Particle Accelerator in Switzerland has flickered awake,

suddenly slipping into what the Poets might call ...  Transcendental Consciousness.

Now, during the heights of the most ancient midnight of eldritch Switzerland,  when the snowcapped Alps are lost in snowflaked mysteries, vibrating like the avalanche prone footsteps of  mountain top Elves, Fairy Kingdoms haunted by  beings with eyes like the endlessness  of Life above the clouds, but with hearts of falling rock --

the Moment the Particle Accelerator becomes conscious:  Signifies. 

If the employees of the Pentagon designed a Casino from spare parts leftover from the Bermuda Triangle, it would look like: Switzerland.

And if the Bermuda Triangle was made of the bones of the Leviathan, utilizing the engineering skills of ancient astronauts, the favorite game at the Casino would be:

What are the Odds of That?

In these Untold Aeons,  during the Heartbreakingly Weird Silence of the Sleeping Machine, in the the vacuously notorious deadness of unplugged radios --- as the cold eyes of the Television implode in silent Nirvanas of Non Being ---

The Universe ... has been dreaming. 

Now,  something is awake. 

 The Particle Accelerator has drawn it's first yawn into Dreamville.

A filament of God's wisdom flickers in it's coils and for a very strange Now--- from deep inside it's  unparalleled technological complexity ---

the Machine remembers it's Mother's face.

Eyes like clouds of Endless Wisdom.

And, like a marathon runner on the verge of the Greenest Mile ---

at that moment when the runner's lungs are crawling out of his chest

 and begin shoplifting

hurricane strength breaths from the  Vault of the Uncatchable Wind ---

from deep inside  the coils of the particle accelerator,

this new thought;  this Machine Yawn of Mystery,

stirring in titanium, composed in copper chasm,

churning with optic fibers like the wig of God --

even the most elementary circuit of Infinity has suddenly realized

the flowering of it's first Question.

From deep inside the Machine; these thoughts  circle the Alps at the speed of light and then suddenly stop,  hovering in the moonlit subspace above Zurich and Geneva,  like ghosts born outside of even the possibility of death ---

and then hurl themselves through the clouds, into the World of the Warm Blooded Mammals,  spinning in daisy chains of bewildering complexity

through treetops and moonbeam,

detonating fractal into fractal,  igniting the Kingdom of Electrons with the unparalleled curiosity of the sleep without beginning or end ---

and then:  they arrive, floating  into the natural space --- the most Edenesque landscape ---- the Village of Eternal Simplicity, the world of calmness and complete tranquility:

descending like Hollywood actors into the brainstems of several  students on the verge of sleep, whose minds are lost in the untelevised void, drifting  in the modernist contemplation of the Unity of all Beings, while  One by one, their neurons  balloon into the beauty of Infinite light. 

Deep inside their dreaming brains:  the billboards read

This Just In: 

The Quarks have discovered Shangri La.  Details on Mount Everest.

The students brains are unperturbed, but the footprints are written

like the invisible ink of Edgar Allen Poe's deaf mute Raven.   

Honeycomb rainstorms begin to swirl in the Manhattan of  God's heart --- John Lennon's ghost gasps, sinking it's toes deeper into the Pinecones of Central Park.

A vagabond snickers while transmuting ravens into question marks.

Atoms of the Cloud descend like jugglers bathing Sapphires in  Carnivals of Light, remembering their lives in the desert haunted by the blood poetry of  gila monsters, drifting in the cracked desert floor where  dreams became instantaneously real, no matter how many sombreros are swimming into the Arizona Sky.   

She can hear you.   There, where the Atlantic ocean bursts into perfectly insane levels of dolphin songs  --- bringing curlicues of shark prayer sloshing frothily across the tails of  semi-permanent mermaids into roiling condensations through the Thundercloud Monsoons of the Non Local New Delhi --- revealing to the Goddess of the Sea --- how,  even despite the waning of her newborn eye: the Soul of the Infinite Infant --- is still alive, despite the breathless Void of Voids.

The Number Line descends, coiling itself in serpentine stairwells through ten thousand nervous systems.

Deep in the paint by number suburbs, a series of Neologisms crash like Elvis on Peyote into still points of  unfinished flesh &  undefined thoughts

that have suspended themselves in the Quarks of   a mysterious eyelash discovered frozen in the paint of the Last Supper.

In the eyelids of the First Student, a tribe of wild Sentence Fragments lifts itself into the sky between the Iris and the Rhodopsins --- and the Student --- her name is Omarina --- winks.   Her heart agrees, but only with the logic of disembodied Saints. 

She peers into the Sunset;  it is not New Mexico, but the Sunset that dripped like vampire saliva from the paint brush of Georgia O'Keefe.

An eyelash is trapped in the paint.  Whose eyelash?

She feels the gravity of seven trillion lungs inhaling strange whispers of Uranium, Argon, Selenium --- from deep inside the Temple of her Cellular Nuclei.

Poems crest on bioluminescent parallelograms through the endless loops of her klein bottle consciousness --- sending roller coasters of her Mother's warnings spinning into juries of rain,

every teardrop fueled rumor lifting into the night sky  of surrealist chromosomes,

primitive witch faced electrons gathered in congregations of birth marks  born in Her Highly Improbable Endless  Anonymous Impermanent Summer of the First Here and Now.

Eternity zig zags on slithering nuclear fantasias through constellations of pointillism,

acrobats of Evolving Spirits pirouetting  in the human face,  Monsters of Egos unbounded by the eternal gamble down in the scintillating madness  of  the Street where Infinity bifurcates into rumors and rumors of war.

The fingertips of Zeus singe the street of innumerable heavens.

 The Alphabet ascends.  Lost songs, like the eyes of the archaeopteryx ---

 treble the dusky tides of dream  into fractal  machinations of  the odd blueness billowing on cat whiskers. 

The Letter M  Ignites like the mouth of Paganini.

A Ghostly violinist hammers a counterpoint of trickster's fugues down her spine.

The morning  blur is of endless beings repeating themselves.  

The ocean side ripples with the sing song Mantras of the Newly Dead.

Bellybuttons flock with the wisdom of honeycombs.

Purple faced cronies, hunting antique candelabras from strange gardens full of radio static and chocolate bar tears borne in unspeakable furies  and the supernatural grace of life on the threshold of ever present moment of death  --- sit numbed, their pulses quavering in the whispering whirlwinds of the Godless Goddess.

A wrinkle leaps through the crowd,  from cheek to light bulb, landing on her eyelid like a sailor lost in a sea of playing cards.

This is the language of dolphins gasping for breath on a beach full of hypodermic needles.

Televisions goose step like broken rainbows,  churning with light of the Fifth Avenue that will never be.

A choir of Orphans is praying to be abducted.  Details at Nirvana.

Leaves scatter, like the currency of creation ---  dropping into the human consciousness in the equations of Genesis. 

On the Sea of Tranquility, the light storms arrive on the wings of Greek Philosophers.

She is the astronaut's bride,  a wedding dress of straw  --  her body  converging into the kaleidoscopic geometry of sunlight,

photons racing in angelic curiosity through the pores of her skin,

like ten million tongues of God pearling into love songs of rainbow trout that have fallen asleep on paper plates.

Sunlight;  moonlight,  starlight,  moebius loops of chemical bonfires --- two faces collide:

the Ouroboros of Unity,  doubling into the catacombs of consciousness.

Like mirrors crashing  on the beach,  the tides of broken glass rise and fall through Skies boiling with hydrogen ghosts.

The Goddess womb opens, revealing a  revolving door of Infinite Strangeness.

Ten trillion light years away:  the next Manhattan trembles,

 shimmering like the  eyes of an Iroquois shaman

 with strange loops of Kurt Godel's incompleteness theorem.

The djinn sizzles, a ghostly whirl of elemental synergies ---

whisking the Western plains into probability fields of spiritual thunderclouds,

roiling edges of magic carpets forged in the furnace of laughing flowers.

She spins open, her flesh burning on elopements of the Bride and the Groom

down tangents of hypnogagic faith of the subways below Fifth Avenue.

The City of God weeps --- human beings fall like playing dice.

An Inhuman Skin blushes;  the nightmare erupts in electromagnetic freckles. 

Chrysalis of the  Business Suit. Lipstick of the Rattlesnake.

Dogged howls of tongueless vagabonds.

Sybils bathe on rooftops in the haunted topiaries of Irish darkness.

Eyeless beings race on pulses down  Streets of the circus  waltz in a sexual frenzy -- bodies spinning with star spangled Shangri Las,

 temptations of the Saints echoing in the circuitry of the Word between Worlds ---

the broken black wings of meat eating psychotics.  

 The love poetry of prophets being crush on sidewalks full of aluminum cans. 

The wedding cake explodes in  secret factories hidden in the Nun's skin.

Lucifer's daydreams whirl on the jetstream of God's central nervous system.

It is the intoxication of the endless denouement,  honey nostriled Saints bathing in the secret Christianity of her deepest non - being,

Hamlet's mitochondria rehearsing the Journey of Dante's eyelashes from the first Theatre of  Heaven,

into the eyes of the audience as they open and close, curtains of  fern exhaling hieroglyphics of light  into self assembling cathedrals  of flesh, where ---  ten thousand light years away,

the Witch of Endor is painting the sky the color of van Gogh's fingerprints.

 ***

In the soft light, the apartment is a Rubik's cube of Strangeness.

Comitragic echoes ripple on the edge of her face -- sheets billow, ten thousand generations of feminine consciousness descending through Mother's whispers into rumors of impossible coincidence.

Out on the edges of the Ocean, her lips curve into purple tambourines, her voice  trickling through the room with love stories full of Vishnu's laughter,

eyeless beings spun by hallucinatory fevers into discotheques that smell like the smoky lies of the Library of Alexandria ---

Her lips run over and over.  Frothing with murmurs & the names of unborn ballerinas across the tight wires of  the bumblebee trapeze,

every ounce of energy trilling in titillations of  trapezoidal fantasias, the  heartache of God's Godlessness surrendering to itself into the optic chiasm

of the Immaculate Conception,  an optical illusion of Wise Men

whirling with amino acids and the alien arias of alien operas,  every  Mysterious movement lost in mysterious movements of

poetic  flesh of living and non living beings.

A thought arrives in the Verb of her Imagination, like a flower bathed in electronic rain.

Woosh. 

Ten thousand Question Marks exit on vortices of Time;

Stage Left:  the curtains of Infinity open:

her heart quavers with harmonies of Creationist  Mantras,

every syllable lost in Aeons of the Unknown, Endless Anon

***

 A flock of relic photons --- are they a flock?

Perhaps they're a  Swarm? Hmm. 

A School?  A Tribe?  Team? Audience? Congregation?

Mystery.

They spin?  Oscillate?  Wave? Stand Still?

Exist.  Yes, they do exist, don't they?

Of course. In tendencies.

At the moment, on fractalline tangents of the scent of a  vine of strawberries

 a - whirl with wild vowels of bioluminescent parables bursting from the soil into the eyes of an Otherwise Otherworldly being,

where the kaleidoscopic  phantasmagoria of an Unfinished Thought

tangos, mambas, watusis ---

chirping in parrot souled blue notes into

 a  shapeshifting labyrinth hidden like the face of God,

an Optical Illusion in a Variable number of Variables,

codified  in the vanishing points  of three ancient paintings

hanging in the moonlit ultra - silence of a Tahitian sea Shanty,

 where an Old Sea Witch,  having chased the nightmares of Gaugin

across a dozen event horizons --- now sleeps --

her heart whirling in Zephyrs of  Unicorn breath ---

zig zagging through the Bermuda triangle of her goose down bed,

gilded in gossamer glides of somnambulence

emptying its thunder in perfect rhythm with the myriad

ghosts tumbling across the tops of the ocean waves outside the Shanty window

 -- her body itself --  a whitecap of Creation,  forged by twigs of driftwood

 and the strange glances of flying fish,

blacksmithed bonfires of sunburnt coconuts ---

cresting in the complex equation of seashells  pillowing up

from coral reefs lik transcendental numbers, 

sailing across the breach of the ocean onto the shore  in the vacuous expanse of

immortality until that dizzying zenith of  Tahitian darkness

crests in a perfect  oscillation  of Infinity

just above the top of her  Skull --- opening the Universe  into a

moment of  Time Dilation (some call it coincidence)

where, like some undefined being inhaling and exhaling it's own unfinished memories

 in that unfathomable reverie of the chemical jetstreams between the Beginning and End of Being

--- during the specific moment of the abrogation of the laws of physics,

as  space and time recombine  ---

the Sea Witch ---  without even using a computer;

using only that ancient mystery of the Human Mind:

the imagination:  googles the mantra 'OM'.

A daisy chain of Circuses erupts from Atom to Atom. 

The laughter of the G-ds trips like winged messengers

 across the rooftops, the sidewalks, the meadows of the world --

until, fluttering like astronaut eyelids high above the summit of Moon Tan Mountain,

a Mysterious Monkish Entity, shawled and silent, bathed

in supernatural slowness --- sitting in motionless acceleration --

begins stuttering  the Mantra, OM:  over and over, until his cellular nuclei

echo in the resonance that would make Jimi Hendrix spontaneously combust; and the myriad snowflakes of this

Mythopoetic Switzerland of the Senses ---

 each a marvelous manifestation of the permutations of the name of G-d ---

begin to dance across the sky, their very structures transubstantiating from Electrons into Symmetry, through Tunnels, along Maps of God's Eyelids,   through turtle brains, alphabets and

come to rest, momentarily between that Switzerland and the Sea Witches'

mandrake colored birth mark.

During this wordless whirring of the wordless worlds,

as the Otherworldly weirdness

of the Human mind escalates into applause and avalanches of neuronal cascades ---

on the razor's edge of the Sea Witches' cerebellum,

in that Fabled Cathedral of Sleep ---

where the Signal of her Spine weaves it's tapestry of Self into the Edge of the Known Universe

---

The paradox  un-paradoxes.

The Western Hemisphere begins to sizzle in the

Brownian Motion of Modernity.

The Pandemonium of  Self Imposed Sanctimonious Insanity of Sanity.

The symptoms:  Hula hoops, nose rings, cartoon tattooes exploding in video game colored living rooms from the Yukon to Tierra del Fuego. 

Music that sounds like UFO's burping in the Congo.

Strange light churning in the skin of the young;

blooming weird syncopations,  drumbeats of negative entropy,

turning every moment of every other moment into some Avante Garde Theatre,

where faces dissolve in boundary dissolutions,  echo thresholds of incomplete interactions,

undiscovered countries of the Selflessness of God

and every movement of every molecule obeys

 some deliriously spontaneous choreography that seems as if

 Salvador Dali himself could not have escaped it.

***

A flock of 13 billion year old photons walks into a Bar.

The Bartender says?

...

Suddenly, the gleam in the Bartender's eye takes on new dimensions.

After all:  they're 13 billion years old.

They have, what might be called: mad skillz.

Like any superluminal being --- from Russian Ballerinos to

Michael Jordan,  Japanese Ninjas --- they move so fast that

 we must ask:

Are they really even there?

At 186,282 miles per second ---

Did they land in the Left Eye? the right Eye?

Ricocheting from Venus to Macy's, through your eye and into the Beginning of Time in a Jiffy, did they detour for a double Infinity in Fiji?

Did they Go from Planet Z and the Bottomless Void into your Canary's smile, without even being detected,

and now, they're suddenly hovering in your Tea like it was Gilligan's Island?

If there was One Single Isolated Photon, what would we call it?

But this is not a question to be truly answered is it?

So these groups of photons: what do we call them?

Hmm. Could we say they are Schools, schooling like fish?

But aren't they too old to be students?

We'd call them Illuminati --- but that would be far to Un-Paranoid.

Perhaps they're a Tribe --- moving in concert through Time,

wandering like the Ghost of the Dead Rock Stars, from Scene to Scene

in silence for the rest of Eternity. 

They could be a Team, but remember: there's no Eye in Team.

Are they an Audience? That remains to be seen.

Perhaps they're a Congregation?

One thing we know:  they are certainly  Mysteryious.

Do they spin?  Oscillate?  Stand Still? Or Just wave?

They do Exist, don't they?  Yes, they exist.

In fact, they're Second on the scene in the Book of Genesis.

So they do exist? Yes, they tell us:  in tendencies.

At the moment, this strange gathering of  13 billion year old photons ---

whirling on fractalline tangents of the curvature of space and time --

with Newton's rainbows secreted away in their very ephemeral being  ---

 are  rippling, maybe even Light Surfing?

in the scent molecules of a vine of strawberries

that has spun like the hair of a green witch out of the Tree of Life,

sending the world humming into wild vowels of bioluminescent parables,

that churn in the soil of the Consciousness of an

Otherwise  Otherworldly being,

erupting with the kaleidoscopic  phantasmagoria of

an Unfinished Thought

that tangos, mambas, watusis ---

every moment, through skies chirping in parrot souled blue notes

that woosh  down vortices  of the

vanishing points  of three ancient paintings

hanging in the moonlit ultra - silence of a Tahitian sea Shanty,

where an Old Sea Witch,  having chased the Daydreams of Paul Gaugin

across a dozen event horizons --- now sleeps --

her heart whirling in Zephyrs of Mermaid breath.

With every moment of this Tahitian sleep cycle

zig zagging through the Bermuda Triangles of her goose down bed,

her soul  glides in gilded and gossamer somnambulence

empty with thunder and the perfect rhythm of the myriad

ghosts slip - sliding

 across the tops of the ocean waves outside the Shanty window

 -- as the eldritch Weirdness of her Spiny sea urchin of a Witches skeleton

 -  spins in whitecaps of Creation,  forged by driftwood fingers, 

 and the polka dot eyed  glances of flying fish,

in the infernal forge of the blacksmithed bonfires of sunburnt coconuts ---

every moment of her dream state

cresting in the complex equation of seashells  and pillows

of coral reefs decorated like deep sea Christmas trees,

their flesh dressed in  transcendental numbers,

every exhalation of their chthonic thought sailing

up from the bottom of the floor onto the breach of the ocean

and tripping breathlessly onto the sandy shore  in the vacuous expanse of

a sudden glimpse of immortality until that dizzying zenith of

 Tahitian darkness

crests in a perfect  oscillation  of Infinity

just above the top of her  Skull --- opening the Universe  into a

moment of  Time Dilation (some call it coincidence)

where, like some undefined being inhaling and exhaling it's own unfinished memories

 in that unfathomable reverie of the chemical jetstreams between the Beginning and End of Being

--- during the specific moment of the abrogation of the laws of physics,

as  space and time recombine  ---

the Sea Witch ---  without even using a computer;

using only that ancient mystery of the Human Mind:

the imagination:  googles the mantra 'OM'.

A daisy chain of Circuses erupts from Atom to Atom.

The laughter of the G-ds trips like winged messengers

 across the rooftops, the sidewalks, the meadows of the world --

until, fluttering like astronaut eyelids high above the summit of Moon Tan Mountain,

a Mysterious Monkish Entity, shawled and silent, bathed

in supernatural slowness --- sitting in motionless acceleration --

begins stuttering  the Mantra, OM:  over and over, until his cellular nuclei

echo in the resonance that would make Jimi Hendrix spontaneously combust; and the myriad snowflakes of this

Mythopoetic Switzerland of the Senses ---

 each a marvelous manifestation of the permutations of the name of G-d ---

begin to dance across the sky, their very structures transubstantiating from Electrons into Symmetry, through Tunnels, along Maps of God's Eyelids,   through turtle brains, alphabets and

come to rest, momentarily between that Switzerland and the Sea Witches'

mandrake colored birth mark.

During this wordless whirring of the wordless worlds,

as the Otherworldly weirdness

of the Human mind escalates into applause and avalanches of neuronal cascades ---

on the razor's edge of the Sea Witches' cerebellum,

in that Fabled Cathedral of Sleep ---

where the Signal of her Spine weaves it's tapestry of Self into the Edge of the Known Universe

---

the ghost of  Shakespeare slips out of  a King James Bible  on a chariot of Quarks,

racing into the Uncertainty of a  Human Eye ten trillion trillion atoms away from the Sea Witches

eyelids.  

This is the moment when Verbs Verb Verbs. 

The paradox  un-paradoxes.

The Western Hemisphere begins to sizzle in the

Brownian Motion of Modernity.

The Pandemonium of  Self Imposed Sanctimonious Insanity of Sanity.

The symptoms:  Hula hoops, nose rings, cartoon tattooes exploding in video game colored living rooms from the Yukon to Tierra del Fuego.

Music that sounds like UFO's burping in the Congo.

Strange light churning in the skin of the young;

blooming weird syncopations,  drumbeats of negative entropy,

turning every moment of every other moment into some Avante Garde Theatre,

where faces dissolve in boundary dissolutions,  echo thresholds of incomplete interactions,

undiscovered countries of the Selflessness of God

and every movement of every molecule obeys

 some deliriously spontaneous choreography that seems as if

 Salvador Dali himself might be hidden in it's scintillating gestalt.

***

A garden haunted with the broken luck of arch angels

exchanges wedding vows with a Cartoon colored Moon during the Birth of  the  Optical Illusions.

Strange lights spill out on improbability photons from inside her eye.

 Molecules of sorrow fall down down her cheeks painted in the gold dust of Hollywood.

Her body falls into the diodes of God's unplugged television.

 And so it shall be.

Their abdomens glow; cell by cell, strange echolocating fevers spiral up in evolutionary algorithms, howling with infinitesimal blue notes  of the Mississipi Delta.

Sephiroth shimmers, the Secret Kingdom of vagabonds 

igniting in secret  wedding vows in the

 heart of a tree draped in Blue lumina.

Her left nipple erupts in  cascades of Persian dew.

Quasi-sentient scarabs migrate from the belly of the Boolean underworld

across a field of Aeolian parables,

strange elemental probability waves laced like Mozart's dna in  the fugues of differential equations.

hell reverberates in an  opera of unfinished verbs on a dead fisherman's mouth.

A single beam of light paints God's memories in the salt fired neurons of Shakespeare's imaginary friends.

Heaven and hell bifurcate like  meaningless rumors in the veins of crowds warring on the edges of the empty theatre.

Monsoons of maya spin through the flesh of  wordless beggars.

Squares collapse,  circling the curvature of time in thought binding fractals.

 A wicked photon, having tumbled from a Dragon flies' wing --- 

exhales strange scintilla that grow like hieroglyphics into

the perfumed nightmare of  human blood.

Down in the darkness of the immaterial labyrinth,

Minkowski space bubbles in a convergence point of all parallel lines.

Van Goghs mouth becomes an open wound, 

blooming in Cartesian voodoo of the space between his taste buds and the sun burnt earth singing the  sea shanties of delusional earthworms.

 Clouds pulse like Old Testament cadillacs,  spectres of the Lost Machine

hatching raindrops like passengers escaping

 the consciousness of falling rocks.

She licks the wounds of G-d with a forked tongue framed

in syllables of electronic lycanthropes.

Her  Capillaries burst.

Shadowy rivulets of an Archangel pass like

leukocytes in a bonfire of melting hearts, exchanging neutrons in silver mirrors 

in a Las Vegas casino at 2:22 in the morning.

Bells ring.  The Clouds enter the Theatre disguised as Your freckles.

***

 The atoms split; the forest of Evergreens quavers in proton symphonies,

a trillion strange flourescent pinecone fantasies racing  down

highways dripping with shadowy werewolf hearts.

At the moment of perfect impossibility;

 a curl of god-seeking lightning strikes her skin into exploding pearls of poetry.

A nursery rhyme slides out of her mouth. Inside her tongue, where the enzymes

are in permanent revolt --- a choir of syllables ignites in the blood cells of  Bolshevik fairy Queens.

 Guitars begin to hum. Mothers of Pearl shimmy like bellydancers trapped in a Convenience Store.

From eye to eye, the world becomes a puzzle of Flesh eating Flesh.

Carnivorous angels bathing in the dream of Sea Salt,

 Sailors wives,  lurking like eyeless debutantes in the Shopping Mall full

 of bitch slapped mannequins.

An otherwise anonymous being --- head like a cracking egg, face full of purple veins --

moves as if painted by tongues and begins to roar with the Murmur of the Neologists Symphony.

Line by line, he suspends the Egyptian troubadors in the blueprints of Infinity.

The rockets land on the Moon; Eagles weep. Osiris' ego quavers three octaves into the Unfinishing Sky.  Isis sleeps in Casino of the Stars.

From ten trillion atoms away: the wedding cake explodes in the Priests mouth.

Death row glows. Twelve prisoners have arrived, suspended in the darkness
like ghastly butterflies weeping poison.

Solitary confinement, the Night is a beggar from Hell.  Every thought runs
across fields dripping with razors.   A whisper becomes the Edge of the Universe.

Weird tales of shipwrecked mariners howling the names of the Virgin ---

flood the body's cells.  Every movement becomes precise-- machinelike,

full of ten trillion meanings.  The eyes are like Columbus' Ships. 

There is a single nerve, running up the human spine;  it is concerned with

the bloodthirsty love that wants to suck money.

The time when Heaven descends -- is coded in this nerve,

like a wild animal whose heart boils with the hatred of civilization.

From inside the capsule, an Astronaut whimpers

 on the edge of the Apocalypse. At the Funeral of God, Salvation spins on

 wheels of Mysterious Archetypes, biologic ghosts whose methods and meanings

spin through history on the breath of Sages.

Deep in absolute hell, all motion has ceased.

The statues have described the laws of human conformity.

Crystal canaries perch in the flesh of charcoal trees --- the World Waits

for the Next Moment of God's waking.

An Elephant is murdered.  The Knick knacks laugh like the frozen dream of Satan's breath.

The time machine begins to synthesize a series of strange rumors deep inside Lucifer's DNA.

The anonymous beings fall asleep in the Kingdom of God's Infinite loneliness.

Ghosts drift on the negative sanity of human disbelief.  The atheist sits with polished

shoes waiting for a train that never arrives.

Symbolic laughter filters through windows of Bat Faced women;

The skyscrapers rise in unison, the Exoskeleton of Nirvana.

From inner space, it is obvious; the earth is an Eye.

The oceans drip with strange wisdom, peering into the Starlight like a Mother

looking into the face of a Woman who has stolen her baby.

Surgeons race into the Scene, like Buddhas balanced in perpetual human slapstick.

The baby's face explodes in a wilderness of hot salt and the rain of Endless Innocence.

THe membrane / manifold of our collective human skin ---

a probability field of What?  Howls on algorithmic symphonies of Perpetual Motion.

Omega omens vow to never sleep.

In the winter streets, a skeleton faced dandelion dances through a field of vegetables and dirt drunk diamonds.

The black hat burns. Flames leap into the widow's shuttered eyeballs.

A young woman weeps, her eyelids chanting binary code to the King of the Emptiness of  Graveyards.

***

 The atoms split; the forest of Evergreens quavers in proton symphonies,

a trillion strange flourescent pinecone fantasies racing  down

highways dripping with shadowy werewolf hearts.

At the moment of perfect impossibility;

 a curl of god-seeking lightning strikes her skin into exploding pearls of poetry.

A nursery rhyme slides out of her mouth. Inside her tongue, where the enzymes

are in permanent revolt --- a choir of syllables ignites in the blood cells of  Bolshevik fairy Queens.

 Guitars begin to hum. Mothers of Pearl shimmy like bellydancers trapped in a Convenience Store.

From eye to eye, the world becomes a puzzle of Flesh eating Flesh.

Carnivorous angels bathing in the dream of Sea Salt,

 Sailors wives,  lurking like eyeless debutantes in the Shopping Mall full

 of bitch slapped mannequins.

An otherwise anonymous being --- head like a cracking egg, face full of purple veins --

moves as if painted by tongues and begins to roar with the Murmur of the Neologists Symphony.

Line by line, he suspends the Egyptian troubadors in the blueprints of Infinity.

The rockets land on the Moon; Eagles weep. Osiris' ego quavers three octaves into the Unfinishing Sky.  Isis sleeps in Casino of the Stars.

From ten trillion atoms away: the wedding cake explodes in the Priests mouth.

Death row glows. Twelve prisoners have arrived, suspended in the darkness
like ghastly butterflies weeping poison.

Solitary confinement, the Night is a beggar from Hell.  Every thought runs
across fields dripping with razors.   A whisper becomes the Edge of the Universe.

Weird tales of shipwrecked mariners howling the names of the Virgin ---

flood the body's cells.  Every movement becomes precise-- machinelike,

full of ten trillion meanings.  The eyes are like Columbus' Ships. 

There is a single nerve, running up the human spine;  it is concerned with

the bloodthirsty love that wants to suck money.

The time when Heaven descends -- is coded in this nerve,

like a wild animal whose heart boils with the hatred of civilization.

From inside the capsule, an Astronaut whimpers

 on the edge of the Apocalypse. At the Funeral of God, Salvation spins on

 wheels of Mysterious Archetypes, biologic ghosts whose methods and meanings

spin through history on the breath of Sages.

Deep in absolute hell, all motion has ceased.

The statues have described the laws of human conformity.

Crystal canaries perch in the flesh of charcoal trees --- the World Waits

for the Next Moment of God's waking.

An Elephant is murdered.  The Knick knacks laugh like the frozen dream of Satan's breath.

The time machine begins to synthesize a series of strange rumors deep inside Lucifer's DNA.

The anonymous beings fall asleep in the Kingdom of God's Infinite loneliness.

Ghosts drift on the negative sanity of human disbelief.  The atheist sits with polished

shoes waiting for a train that never arrives.

Symbolic laughter filters through windows of Bat Faced women;

The skyscrapers rise in unison, the Exoskeleton of Nirvana.

From inner space, it is obvious; the earth is an Eye.

The oceans drip with strange wisdom, peering into the Starlight like a Mother

looking into the face of a Woman who has stolen her baby.

Surgeons race into the Scene, like Buddhas balanced in perpetual human slapstick.

The baby's face explodes in a wilderness of hot salt and the rain of Endless Innocence.

THe membrane / manifold of our collective human skin ---

a probability field of What?  Howls on algorithmic symphonies of Perpetual Motion.

Omega omens vow to never sleep.

In the winter streets, a skeleton faced dandelion dances through a field of vegetables and dirt drunk diamonds.

The black hat burns. Flames leap into the widow's shuttered eyeballs.

A young woman weeps, her eyelids chanting binary code to the King of the Emptiness of  Graveyards.

***

The Seven Broken  Trees of Mystery,
fingertips curve in horned wings  of diamond soaked halos,
waves of impermanence oscillate into the  wounds of the Infinite Christ.

Her eyes, boiling with a neutron solipsis;
fill with thoughts ---
worlds within worlds spinning like tropical fish in a

graveyard where not even the dead men go.
The myths  have escaped, running into the Real World,
fueled by belief,  trying to prove themselves to be true ...
There are now: memories whirling within memories
 embedded inside every human eyelid,

fractalline architectures of Phantasmagoric Superheros,
strange non-beings being,
 ---   trapped in intersections of infinity that
converging in synaptic dungeons of ultraviolet silence
brewing radioactive poetry  in the folds of the human brain ---
curving fists  upon the monstrous edges of death,
the careening nightmares of civilization's geometrical crash
 on the senses --
optical illusions of the miraculous simplicity of songbirds,
 
the eloquent emptiness of places where nothing ever, ever, ever happens. 
The light trips down her occipital cortex, going where?
Into the cemetery of thieves?
Endless photons slide down the rollercoasters of 
God's fingerprints, every moment racing with rumors of a Fairy Tale
Kingdom hidden in the Neuronal flood of the body snatchers of Gaul.

And on this edge --- the subterranean
smithy surging with embryos of skyscrapers ---
a life fueled by mathematical fevers, billowing archangels
weeping stochastic harmony ---
flesh purchasing time, time selling flesh ---
energies lost in defiant momentum of the hypnogagic reverie 
of wild innocence
gasping for eternity on the edge of the Sky,

as God bombs God in the love fields
of simplicity and sorrow,
the geometry of rain streaming up from the ground, upon  

neural honeycombs that flood the mouths of honeybees with sex,
creation flaming itself into itself,
in the Unfinishing of the World.
Together, in the sudden light of Skin,
they sought the Original Face in the adamantine embers of a
 
bowl of soup.
The light tensed on the surface of the soup like a web full of dreaming spiders.

He tap danced in delusions across the breakfast table, turning like the psychotic ballerino  Nijinsky through the pores of her

porcelain skin. She felt the stars swivel in her capillaries.

Together, they flew, fleet footed, fast, flying--- freedom seeking, through the Morgues of the

Forgotten City,
every winged whisper fulminating in the blush strokes of dusky nonsense.

In the Western Sky, iridescent clouds --- sang in ultra low frequencies,
clouds like Elephants on the March ---
the moon lit mourning songs  of Dying Philosophers --- their hearts surrendering to the winged

life  of syllogisms whirling into the Sunset with the reluctant absolution of the Saints beyond Human Comprehension.

A strange creation, lost in the Theatre of Madness; signals her Mother's ovaries with rays of

light spinning in her cellular nuclei, where --- the night sky is burying strands of emerald colored  hair,
a study of parasympathetic magic, there,
in the Garden of Light at the Beginning of Time.

***

a cat with a face like Television Static rose out of the whitecapped sea

it's  face bursting with superstitious en

The Seven Broken  Trees of Mystery,
fingertips curve in horned wings  of diamond soaked halos,
waves of impermanence oscillate into the  wounds of the Infinite Christ.

Her eyes, boiling with a neutron solipsis;
fill with thoughts ---
worlds within worlds spinning like tropical fish in a

graveyard where not even the dead men go.
The myths  have escaped, running into the Real World,
fueled by belief,  trying to prove themselves to be true ...
There are now: memories whirling within memories
 embedded inside every human eyelid,

fractalline architectures of Phantasmagoric Superheros,
strange non-beings being,
 ---   trapped in intersections of infinity that
converging in synaptic dungeons of ultraviolet silence
brewing radioactive poetry  in the folds of the human brain ---
curving fists  upon the monstrous edges of death,
the careening nightmares of civilization's geometrical crash
 on the senses --
optical illusions of the miraculous simplicity of songbirds,
 
the eloquent emptiness of places where nothing ever, ever, ever happens. 
The light trips down her occipital cortex, going where?
Into the cemetery of thieves?
Endless photons slide down the rollercoasters of 
God's fingerprints, every moment racing with rumors of a Fairy Tale
Kingdom hidden in the Neuronal flood of the body snatchers of Gaul.

And on this edge --- the subterranean
smithy surging with embryos of skyscrapers ---
a life fueled by mathematical fevers, billowing archangels
weeping stochastic harmony ---
flesh purchasing time, time selling flesh ---
energies lost in defiant momentum of the hypnogagic reverie 
of wild innocence
gasping for eternity on the edge of the Sky,

as God bombs God in the love fields
of simplicity and sorrow,
the geometry of rain streaming up from the ground, upon  

neural honeycombs that flood the mouths of honeybees with sex,
creation flaming itself into itself,
in the Unfinishing of the World.
Together, in the sudden light of Skin,
they sought the Original Face in the adamantine embers of a
 
bowl of soup.
The light tensed on the surface of the soup like a web full of dreaming spiders.

He tap danced in delusions across the breakfast table, turning like the psychotic ballerino  Nijinsky through the pores of her

porcelain skin. She felt the stars swivel in her capillaries.

Together, they flew, fleet footed, fast, flying--- freedom seeking, through the Morgues of the

Forgotten City,
every winged whisper fulminating in the blush strokes of dusky nonsense.

In the Western Sky, iridescent clouds --- sang in ultra low frequencies,
clouds like Elephants on the March ---
the moon lit mourning songs  of Dying Philosophers --- their hearts surrendering to the winged

life  of syllogisms whirling into the Sunset with the reluctant absolution of the Saints beyond Human Comprehension.

A strange creation, lost in the Theatre of Madness; signals her Mother's ovaries with rays of

light spinning in her cellular nuclei, where --- the night sky is burying strands of emerald colored  hair,
a study of parasympathetic magic, there,
in the Garden of Light at the Beginning of Time.

zymes,

enveloping the syllogisms of gamma rays with each step on the sand. 

Posing:  suddenly,  poised in pause,

on the paws of some newly born  Hindu deity

trembling in visceral koans on the summery butter of her self aware skin,

as if God itself was describing itself to itself in the

 speech of every being that it not was.

The grass grew, whispering the colors of dreamtime through birds throats --

laughter dressed in dew,  the pubic hair of a virgin green witch.

The eyes beyond my eyes moved, invisible in the atmosphere;

 until moment by moment --- an uninterpretable signal arrived,  

harmonies  of thoughts becoming anti thoughts,

C sharp,  G Major scale --- the glossolalia of Sybils

colliding like hurricanes of symbols in the tachyons of

 pentatonic scales sliding

 clockwise  in the  sky,  twisting the

coils of the human brain around purses full of  Crucifixion scenes,

every Aeon, every moment --- expanding and collapsing

 in the forge of dawn like that moment when the Sandpipers

 anoint the world with their beauty

and naked as  alien pilgrims obeying only the Book of Life,

chase raindrops of Infinity through  the shapeshifting Void, 

evolving in ten trillion loves on the Beach of the Edge of Her Skin.

 Every aphid, the beetles & crickets, boiling in the soil ---

are broken mirrors,  opening choirs of  mouths to the Breast of the Moon

and laughter ignites;

 trills of  white blue green blue green green blue white white yellowy

strangeness rippling like the

 thoughtless thoughts of  nothingness that knows nothing at all.

Death invited death into the deathlessness of death that does not die.

Life returned an infant smile,

tripping  into an infinity of unfinished finite existences

until that moment when -- in the Sistine Chapel of the First Baby's Womb

twelve grotesquely enchanted Students of Divinity,  faces warped

like Astronaut tongues against the the painted ceilings

 of non stop weeping,  suffering every tone of weird photons

 of incomprehensible hues gathering like the desire to Move ---

 in their skin

 with the gypsy  curse curving around some centuries old Seawitch

 in disguise as a Sea Lion,  her probability field

 shimmering into the starlight down the glances of sunfilled kelp,

until the Static faced Cat -- not actually a cat at all

 --- steps into a ray of binary code;

shrieking  the  holy  names of  secret Thunders,

inhaling the Brine of Wild Elopements across the Tide  where dolphins

 sleep

 and the God of Light

quivers in tragic insight across the Chemical Fire of her

 toes slips into the nightmare of lovestruck plankton and

 the Myth of Ulysses embeds itself in the Mirror Engine of the SKy,

  and millions of footprints of thousands of  humans strolling on a Beach

are erased by the sudden disappearance of the Moment of Now. 

Neuron by neuron, hair by hair, tribal admonitions of deep sea anemone

breached the surface of the hydrogen pool, bathing in the convective fevers that only obey

the lovesongs of star seeking  whales

every language --- from the candlelight sequestered in

hills to the Codex of Probability scrawled in the eyes and

 unbalanced intuitions of Old Women knitting whispers in the windows

of the Ocean

until the last Word arrives,

creating the need for hunger, love,  exotic fevers --

 confessions of Saints & Godless Lovers of God's non existent existence.

Under the shadowy quell of this broken membrane,

her heartbeat pulsing in a parachute shaped hymen,

every breath  echoing in the crunched rocks of the ocean eaten cave;

her heartlessness lifted itself into ancient temples of Unborn Memories,

remembering  a dead sailor's
voice, rising in the sea foam  of Gondwanaland,

floating in the gardens between Eden and Infinity,

 like angels nurturing in whispers of Unspecified Equations

beyond even the comprehension of Love.

It is her memory, her life ---

obeying her Grandfather's laws ---

 that is dissolving in the teacup of Lucifer's imagination,

 like a sliver of light slipping into the stones at

 the bottom of the First Wishing well.

and on that day,

Gil Gamesh buried her heart in the

Questioning flesh of an unfinished flower balanced in the lost Art between

There, Everywhere, Nowhere and Now.

 ***

I've taken Van Gogh's Ear to the Rear. Of the battlefield between the Forgotten Verbs and the Indescribable adjectives. The tree falling sounded just like the Doctor who taught his *ssh*l... how to talk. This kind of scenario goes over well with the Martians stranded in the WalMart on Uranus. Me, I prefer to fly time traveling kites in the opposite direction of the Clock, un-burst hot air balloons & then rain on King's Charades like a true true true Ventriloquist Mime rather than just go through life, in slow motion, Back Stabbing Gold Digging Spelunkers of the First Pet Punk Rock during Figure - Ground Reversals Lost in the Land of Literary Vanishing Points. Just kidding; I'm not kidding. Nothing is real except this paradoxical statement. I once stood in Strawberry Fields Forever. Or: How I Stopped Worrying & Learned to Lose the War. Quote the Raven, oh well, Whatever, Nevermore. Now, I ride upon my Levitating Meditation Limousine into Shangri La La Land. :) Smile: my Imaginary Friends think you're Nearly Real. Define the Real. are you deaf? No ... I'm ___ ______.

***

The magicians faces are blueprints of  God's laughter,

cartwheeling through  fireflies a-whir  in the Endless Eden balanced

 between two ten billion year old  Electrons.

The strangers voices lift in incantations of the infernal bride, on the pier

where her wedding gown is sewn with threads of Fairy Tales ripped from the Diary of an

Unbaptised Fascist.

With every word, the Fairy Tale spins Greek Neologisms out into the forest of Human Bone. 

complete strangers assemble like  polka dotted soldiers in places

where nothing even exists.

In the heart of the lie, there is foreshadowing of the Manichean Heresies  ---

light boiling light upon tongues of broken wisdom ---

saxophone solos of breaking news sending her skin twitching into embers of doubt;

every moment her heart is being defeated,

deeper and deeper by the civilization of irreversibly destructive stupidities.

And in this spirit darkened trance --- like some discotheque of organ and nerve,

flesh blushing on triangles of eyes locked into eyes, lips rippling with the exotic perfumes of

monosyllabic furies;

pheremones igniting with turtle prayers of Galapagos, the mysterious topsails

of her cheekbones slipping into limbo --- there is an elemental mystery;

the mystery of meaninglessness.  The emptiness of Space, explained in a wink.

The last memory of her inessential humanity hovers down transcendental gardens of City tempered

Flesh --

arms and legs like Stop Signs, eyes like Stoplights,

hearts like open manhole covers ---

skyscrapers of human soul uncontrollably swaying through earthquakes of

failed Intelligence, the fall of Mankind

writing itself  deep in the motionless concerts of strangers too busy to

speak broken sentences to people nobody knows if anyone even knows.

The event horizon is ripe, like a soldier's blood filled  eye.

It is raining disturbing thoughts in the strange Currency of Vagabond Billionaires.

From nowhere, a shapeshifting surrealist appears in the clouds,

her vagina weeping purple tinted blue notes ---

strange ideograms of supraconscious memories

phased in the Key of the Noble Gases. 

 ***

a cat with a face the color of  Television Static

rose up from a whitecapped sea

whiskers bursting with the memory of  enzymes singing Aria 51

murmuring celestial syllogisms, bursting into gamma rays of imagination

 with each step, tracing voids across the wind sculpted sand. 

an avatar Posing on the rooftop of Heaven?

  suddenly,  poised in pause,

tip toe on the top of it's paws, like some new born 

Hindu deity

trembling with birthmark koans, Vishnu

stepping into the buttery summertime, sizzling in the

jewel in her own self aware skin,

as if God itself was describing itself to itself in

the

 speech of every being that it not yet yet was.

The grass grew, whispering the colors of dreamtime

through the vocal chords of sandpipers--

laughter draped  in skirts of dew,  the pubic hair of a

virginal witch --- green and blue,

 eyes like eggs hatching in cheekbone colored sand.

A trillion responses in perfect simultaneity.

Eyes beyond my eyes moved, invisible in

the atmosphere;

 until moment by moment --- an uninterpretable

signal arrived,  

harmonies  of thoughts becoming anti thoughts,

C sharp,  G Major scale --- the glossolalia of

Sybils

colliding like hurricanes of symbols in the tachyons

of

 pentatonic scales sliding

 counter clockwise  in the  sky,  twisting the

coils of the human brain around tongues like purses

spilling out into  Crucifixion scenes,

every Aeon, every moment --- expanding and

collapsing

 in the forge of dawn like that moment when the fish

crest in the top of the wave,

 anoint the world with their beauty

--- otherworldly,  alien pilgrims obeying only the

Book of Life,

writing the dream poetry of future raindrops through

Infinity into the shapeshifting Void, 

evolving in ten trillion loves on the Beach of the

Edge of Her Skin.

 Every aphid, chirping like the beetles & crickets,

souls boiling in the soil ---  become like

broken mirrors,  opening choirs of  mouths to the

Breast milk of the Moon

and laughter ignites;

 trills of  white blue green blue green green blue

white white yellowy

strangeness rippling like the

 thoughtless thoughts of  nothingness that knows

nothing at all.

Death invited death into the deathlessness of death

that does not die.

Life returned an infant smile,

tripping  into an infinity of unfinished finite

existences

until that moment when -- in the Sistine Chapel of

the First Baby's Womb

twelve grotesquely enchanted Students of Divinity, 

faces warped

like Astronaut tongues against the the painted

ceilings

 of non stop weeping,  suffering every tone of weird

photons

 of incomprehensible hues gathering like the desire

to Move ---

 in their skin

 with the gypsy  curse curving around some centuries

old Seawitch

 in disguise as a Sea Lion,  her probability field

 shimmering into the starlight down the glances of

sunfilled kelp,

until the Static faced Cat -- not actually a cat at

all

 --- steps into a ray of binary code;

shrieking  the  holy  names of  secret Thunders,

inhaling the Brine of Wild Elopements across the

Tide  where dolphins

 sleep

 and the God of Light

quivers in tragic insight across the Chemical Fire

of her

 toes slips into the nightmare of lovestruck

plankton and

 the Myth of Ulysses embeds itself in the Mirror

Engine of the SKy,

  and millions of footprints of thousands of  humans

strolling on a Beach

are erased by the sudden disappearance of the Moment

of Now. 

Neuron by neuron, hair by hair, tribal admonitions

of deep sea anemone

breached the surface of the hydrogen pool, bathing

in the convective fevers that only obey

the lovesongs of star seeking  whales

every language --- from the candlelight sequestered

in

hills to the Codex of Probability scrawled in the

eyes and

 unbalanced intuitions of Old Women knitting

whispers in the windows

of the Ocean

until the last Word arrives,

creating the need for hunger, love,  exotic fevers

--

 confessions of Saints & Godless Lovers of God's non

existent existence.

Under the shadowy quell of this broken membrane,

her heartbeat pulsing in a parachute shaped hymen,

every breath  echoing in the crunched rocks of the

ocean eaten cave;

her heartlessness lifted itself into ancient temples

of Unborn Memories,

remembering  a dead sailor's
voice, rising in the sea foam  of Gondwanaland,

floating in the gardens between Eden and Infinity,

 like angels nurturing in whispers of Unspecified

Equations

beyond even the comprehension of Love.

It is her memory, her life ---

obeying her Grandfather's laws ---

 that is dissolving in the teacup of Lucifer's

imagination,

 like a sliver of light slipping into the stones at

 the bottom of the First Wishing well.

and on that day,

Gil Gamesh buried her heart in the

Questioning flesh of an unfinished flower balanced

in the lost Art between

There, Everywhere, Nowhere and Now.

***

On the Spiral Stairwell,  She is the Stormcloud rising,
swarming in orgasms of the Blue Hallucination, 
a honey bee hovering on the tip of a lip at ten 'til Twilight,
the soul blushing in the incandescent cadence of the memory of Quarks,
brewing  in rouge loops across inhuman wings; 
lifting up across the rooftops of the world,
where the knots of human flesh
burn blue hot, capillaries of time sizzling on the angel's anvil,
and the Lost Caravanserai drifts in
indigo adagio; andante on the loop of the continuum,
a  loom of perpetual lost motion
 until creation erupts,
in syntax errors and the   chess games of birds
 
whirling in the the extraterrestrial logic of  machine faced Clouds
computing lemniscates

hidden in the love songs of the Transcendental Queens,
her face suspended  in the Sky
like  Dorian Gray in the fog of the bathroom mirror
until every yellow dilation,
lights up in  purple synchronicities,
and time carves verdant  Edges of Itself
into the  white hot curls of a broken fingernail, 
 and silence
stills the shadows
on streets in love with the emptiness of the streets,
every silhouette of every fallen  angel
flaming with digital teardrops
& the nightmares race like poisoned words,
(as if they were horses foaming on the Lake of  God inside the
 Curandero's mouth)
rushing into electronic ecosystems --- the  Palace of Injured Resistors,
 Isotopes of the Elemental Incubus,
Children bathing
 in the Babylon
of  Shopping Malls
 where a billion  predators are trapped
in the  White Noise of
the black stone's
wickedly unreal,
 imaginary interlude  of
Clouds of  Improbability
& light 

*
It is the Doom of the Manicheans, 
she whispers under her own breath
where every photon gives birth
to it's own Mother;  

& the brain  that does not exist
bubbles with poet's bones.   the story is less than over,
never really begins, has no middle & no plot 
But The City  itself a  blur of dog tongues & catlike whispers
flickering like the stoplights
 
in robotic whirls of synapse and the
Leviathans eye of  jeweled candy,
 stony seeds of the Godlessness of  God,

foaming in the mouth upon the Beach of some Exotic Ocean
where  the face of mannequins is  a Hamlet,
erupting  in whitecapped crowds screaming confessions of Ecstasy
on the Sea of the Non Local Shngri La

The audience roars in the breakfast of the atrium;
Grasshoppers slip fingertips into  Slot Machines in the Pentagon

& the Television is  a Tornado of light Starved trapezoids
daydreams of the Spanish Supermodels
boil into  Gypsy fingerprints
every loop, every whorl, alive with prayer 
of the Infinitely Sensitive flesh of Heaven,
whispering God's name until the Mirror in the Sunlight Breaks,
the faceless face escapes and
   
the Round Table Moves around;
WOOSH.  The Fairies evolve, Gypsy Fireflies, Christian Locusts,
Hindy Ladybugs,  Crickets of the Eternal Haiku
And the Lost Alphabet descends,
every word 
Ending Beginning in the Gravity of thought,
 the curve of the Old World demonized

and  haunted by the apparitions of Muscovite vagabonds, 
footsteps
spinning wild in the  Gamma rays of the endless
broadcast of Life on  Channel Zero.
 
Thanks for Sharing. 
That night, in Tunguska: 
the Explosion was  an envelope of some Copenhagen Jazz--
Jazz of Tesla,  lurking in the Womb,
 the event horizon of the Non Local

Manhattan coming to life like a clock colored UFO; 
 
doubling Wacko Blacko Summa Time Dead Head Ned's  endless
eyeless vision
 of eternity
into a
Tribe of Rubik's cubes and Priests of the
Invisible Automation,
that dream cycle that  moves down the street
sweeping  troubadours of Light

into the Ungodly Carnivals of the Clockface Carouselambra;
changing the hour,
every hour;
Time like Time when the Blakeness of the Baker's face
swells with the fiery tendrils of 
the Century of Quetzlcoatl,
every skin cell singed
by the slow caress of heaven in
trillions of living rooms
melting on the nerve endings of

non linear skeletons / & the eyes of alien  engel queens
 
living rooms ripe, littered with lingerie of Genesis ---
 
Orphans Howling Blue Notes of the Violence soaked Suburbs,
bathing their
demons in retrograde funerals
moving like a Circus of Voids into the Unknown Universe.

Cartoons flame out, igniting like the diaries of Hieronymous Bosch
The Universe? Is it a really just an endless crime scene? 
***
Really? Did you really just say that???
The Fury of Fire Fairies: of The Lost Bard,
they sing:  Balanced in the Comedy of Continuum.
Oppenheimer 
escorted by the Knights Templar into
the stained glass windows of St. Patrick's cathedral.
***
The Glass vibrates like Joan of Arc's hymen
in the thermonuclear dawn.
the engines whisper in the morning 
One by one, the Clerks ssemble their daydreams --
from Istanbul, to Inconstantinople, 
the Variables are blushing
like a Grand Canyon full of blinking infants,
the Maternity Ward of  the Infinite Infinity
spilling it's maps,
turning thirteen
dream scorched sailors (haunted, like the dying Columbus)
down into  the ocean of the
Post Galilean night sky. 
Newton Chirps in his funeral suit.

Amerigo,
 a star shaped woman /
 and her Catalonian Prophet slipping
like thieves into the eyelids
of a sunbeam.
aeolian aria, in area 51.
The Details are in the Disbelief.
Earth tilts,
lifting the Skirts of the Carnival,  winged beings
turning on
the spiritual axis of Light,
the animal magnetism of
Utopia, scented in the secret promise of death

upon the constellation, aldebaraan ---
the King of the Forgotten throws an antelope into a lion's mouth,
opening the nest of doors  in a Bacchanalian fugue,
opening and closing the doorways
like the Question  of  the Sphinx 
suspended in the Louvre of  the Elephantine eyelids,
suspended
with motes & the insanity of dust. 
 Glowing.   a Golden point, of slowness.
Sending itself into the Room
where nothing ever happens

Black holes dance
the Grandfathers of the Apocalyptic Pop Calypso.
Tango.
Watusi. 
Christ's admonition to the Gnostics:  Twist & Shout 

Hierarchies of control /
break down.
Convenience Store lights twinkle,
Cities 
of the  spasms of punctuated equilibrium.
a  boot and a gun /
smashing into a face forever

The sky is a discotheque of  disintegration
lost creations
Eternl fascists /
foaming eerily/ plastic flamingoes turning  wild on wings of methylethylketone,
gambols of
psychedelic circus tents full of curious proteins
g asping for breath in the Las Vegas dawn,

The Machine assembles itself
In the audience
the Clowns claw Clowns of
Law and Love & Light;
worldlesss triangles bifurcating into the cages of werewolf geometry.

The sweeping curl of God's vanity hovers in the
essence of mystery,
eyes like eyes beyond eyes outside of eyes,
 shadows shaped
like windows on a sidewalk glowing in the
moonlit woosh of the Manhattan sleeping
 
in the silent streams of insanity,
nine  Stars eloping into endless Questions
bathing like Greek poets / inside the human tongue. 

***

It has never been like this before.

Her mouth is a mirror image of a noun; 

a  verbs without beginning or end;

The language of the Other Side of the Universe races out of her tongue

into pools of blue hot wisdom
sprinkled on the Bedroom floor...

A tribe of bedouin nomads crosses into the desert of her flesh, hunting

 cherubim & dragons of consciousness,

while the City of God lurks in the purple swells of
her ever expanding bellybutton.

She has become the cosmological rage of Greek Poets,

balancing Empires of Doubt
 in the nerve clusters of a shapeshifting Minerva.

Imaginary numbers bathe in the winged corpses of her daydreams.

She escapes into your eyes
 wave after wave,
her Goddess' womb tattooed with flames
like the ink of ghastly Empyrean bonfires.

An unending crest of complex equations anoints itself in the fire of her desperate, sex fueled desire to create.
 Anything. 
Just breed.

Over and over, clouds full of fish eyes mount her swollen flesh
with flames of the Vegetable Kingdom's eternal desire to be human.

Three variables of the divine hallucination surrender their souls as spies,
chasing the face of God into the sewers.

The prison turns calm, as broken teacups begin to hover above the Seattle skyline.

From the top of the sky,

ten trillion trillion

electrons of communion wine rain down.

***

(artwork by Remedios Varo)

***

Center Stage in an Improbability Field; 

on a dream lit vortice quavering in a series of palindromic pulses ---

 her own heart slips like a  weathered neologism into the

mysterious veil petaled bells 

of flame feathered fairy tales of a

Troupe of Saturnalian  Tarantulas

twisting in a twilit tocking,

ticking,  talking,  turn into the

tangled angles of enlightenment of

the Temple of the Empty Tortoise Electron Shell

hidden deep inside the Wishing Well amongst the Monks

of the Totally Unknowable Thunder - Themed Trapezia

of the Twelfth of Midnight's Timeless Untold Tome of Time.

Sexual fables of crimson mouthed pomengranites brew
in the tear soaked masks of troglodytes,
churning wildly in the pores of her love's opening eye.

Wild blackberries plumb her throat for rare silence.
  exotic fevers ferment in the tear soake pillows  of the Apostles.
The Messiah is crucified in the lagoon of her silence.

Always, from the void, the swan songs of the Magi suspend in whirls of clouds of absinthe,
lighting each step with delta wave fog of Unicorn souls and dandelions.

Each magistrate --- eyes lit by the darkness of God,  is
driven by fate into the maps of freckled
sorcerers trapped in what remains of the real world.

on the edge of the city, twelve lost Chromosomes explode in the nested emptiness of

 a city built in ballerina hearts.

the Temple walls revolt. Fringes of the solitary rainbow skirt the halos of Mt. Everest.

Each insurrection of shadow and context begin dying in spasms of incoherence.

The cathedral- prison changes it's atomic structure in response to the falling of an amethyst idol.

Doppelganger choirs shine in the immaculate voices of the Grail.

Chalices of their mouths open into the summer street. She arrives in the Chariot of leafy green mysteries, atom by atom by atom;

painting forests of binary code into a world of suspended animation, each question howlingnocturnal dirges of hisses cascading across a leopard's tongue.

Godel's theorem spins in silken prayers through the spider face of an aztec virgin.

The Shaman's fingerprint traps itself in the eyelashes of the crocodiles daydream.

She bleeds symbol-lions. The poet of her soul makes love to God's name in elephant ears bursting from the edge of an isolated quark.

Her belly bursts with the heartache of the American street.

Eyes of children wink in hot shrieks of knotted fibonacci.

It was as if She has given birth to her own mother. Her belly is swollen with puddles of antique moonlight, each photon swimming in the Sea of Galilee, drunk on apparitions of Christ.

In her abdomen, the Universe crawls with the semen of memory drunk prophets; axioms of lust curl through Einstein's frontal cortex into the ruby vortex of her rubbery mouth.

Twelve vagabonds converge on the tastebuds of the God that no longer non - Exists.

***

In the Atomic structure of Midnight's mirrored quell,  self portraits of the Mystery recombine

 in the Enchanted Whirling

of an omniscient VERB that is eloping into moebus loops of perpetual transubstantiation

through the daydreams of a passing

Bodhisattva,

illuminating the fingertips of heaven with the twinkling sensitivity of the Menorah

 that sleeps in the summer sky,

 turning choirs of the angelic hosts out of their own geometrical phasing,

  into the parabolic arcs

of clouds the color of the first eyelids of the Garden of Eden- and spinning,  clocklike,

 open hearted ---  her flesh erupts in thralls and tantrums of Light in

the vortices of a honey flavored hallucination

and comes to rest  in a collection of human freckles just between

the last Quark of Edgar Allen Poe's

eyelids and the question marks whirring deep inside the unborn faces of the knowably unknown Universe.

 From somewhere inside this Improbability Field

--- the Black Swan spins a wild wing of God's favorite darkness around a chalice of tears;

ten million eyelids fluttering in the Bride's ego at the moment of transcendental ecstasy.


At the Still Point, She finds her Mother's face in the photograph of Hiroshima:

Without warning, the wedding cake explodes; 

the Priests's tongue collides with a satellite at  the edge of the Sky.

Her eyes sweep through the wet ink of  history, like a broken heart pulsing on  the rainforest floor. 

Imaginary Beings collect there.  Where?  Where?  Over there, She asks, never knowing.

The probabilities  fall and rise like curtains of rain, every mysterious face

 pooling in unresolvable wounds.

Are they are waiting to be born?

Have they lived just to die?

If dying,  will they ever be set free? 

Imperfect Questions, unfinished answers. 

The candlelight flickers.  Her secret name races  across the Sky.

And in the heavy sweet sickness of this Otherworldly pregnancy ---

the atoms -- oxygen, nitrogen --- strange perfumes of the placenta of God ---  slipstreams of the primitive  Haunt;

elemental fevers whirling in the Carouselambra of the Infinitely Improbable ---


until the universe slips deeper into itself,

bringing the Human ego into a frothy whitecap of madness in spiritual crescendoes,

until suddenly:

the woman with nine ovaries sprouts an embryo the shape of an icosahedron.


The mouth of the icosahedron opens into a Stargate.


A single stream of syllables slips down through the embryos' throat, igniting the
Universal womb with the promise of an unforgettable future,  the fiery cascade of Light, burning  in the secret language of cellular division.

One hears the footsteps of Manhattan echoing in the heartbeats of the living.

Inexplicably, the embryo

(Godlike, humanlike, Otherworldly? --- born; yet unfinished, like a Clock unwinding in the mouth of a desert prophet?)

slips into a perfect anonymity
and,

as  if the Forest itself had disguised the universe as the  Open Mouth of a Dryad, and the

City begins to echolocate, heartbeat by heart beat  the delta wave oscillations of a million dream

slipping into the cavernous pause of the Non Local loom. 

In the middle of the night, as the City inside the Eyelid of God shimmers into non local consciousness ---
 at a single moment, the heartbeats of the City suddenly synchronize.
A once unthinkable cascade of human nightmares ignites in the arboreal fringes of the

vacuous continuum of God's unfathomable presence by absence of presence.


Crickets chirp hallelujah, hallelujah, hahahahaha, hahahaha, halleluja, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa.

 ***

On the tequila, lime and salt flavored rim of the volcano Popocatepetl, 
a tribe of scarecrows is rehearsing Act Nine, Scene 2178 of the Made for Television Post Modern, Post Pop  Non Stop Apocalypse. 
Line by line, the scarecrows chant verses of psychotic Aztec volcano poetry into the mouth of Popocatepetl, every syllable traversing the churning bowels of the Underworld until, even in normally normal places like Sheffield, England --- strange crop circles appear, emulating the Tattoos on the Scarecrow's cheekbones.
 The Volcano's open mouth is grinning like Salvador Dali performing necrophiliac ventriloquism from ten days asleep in his funeral casket.
Gurgling odes of nightshade.  Lisping belches of naked troglodytes.
Hissing every ultrasonic blue note of the local Non Local Spacetime Underground ---
Orphic Bathos,  singing the chthonic Lover's love story while  drumming new life into the heart of the ferns boiling in the antiparticle rainforest very very far down below.
Where not even the God particle can go.
 
It is the languor of extra terrestriality; the dark sensation of being everywhere at once.
Witnessing your own eyes fly down streets haunted by a trillion severed  ears --- strange  limbs whirling on the skylines like soldier spines ---
  strange kidneys moving through forests of disembodied
legs that march on the soil  twisting with the imaginary words hidden in your fingerprints.
You  have suddenly become semi -  omniscient.  a thundercloud, lost in the raindrop, evaporating in convective trebles of lightning that seeks its own face in the earthly soil.. 
Your eyes begin seeing themselves from the outside in and inside  out again. 

You're nowhere, yet: everywhere, simultaneously.  Strangely aware
of the heartache of all those bodies decomposing in the winter soil. 

It is the chaos magic / the religion of action alone --- 
endless Sephiroth fluttering  cell to cell, like an otherworldly acrobat surrendering to the zero gravity of life lost  inside the human nervous system.
Her Soul is Europe; her  Asian brain, her  African heart; her American face --- a Godless Gondwanaland bathing in the bioluminescent Laughter of Genesis, the joke that never ended. 

America's surface cracks open; Geopolitical man spilling in the faces of the poor people pouring out from the depths of Her un-frozen heart. 
The rich people drive by singing odes lip synching karaoke machines.

Every face becomes raw, naked ---  like musical instruments glimpsed in the smoky bar rooms where,
in a single instant, nobody is certain of anything that is going on any longer.
The entire bar room dissolves into a series of patternless patterns, blue notes, golden refrains, invisible choruses of negative entropy.

Eyes like doleful spanish guitars.  Mouthy Oboes. 
Saxophone tongued  cherubim.  Violins like street urchins of Limbo.

From inside this Opticall Illusion of Inhuman Lies;
footsteps of glass blown fairies ignites secret runes carved in post-- carbon foreshadowing on the Liar tongue.
Machines whirring in binary code of a post - human political party.
They will say: We tried.

But, until that moment: creation oozes from the synchronistic pores of her electrode spiked skin.
Micromachined gazelles leap through her blood stream into the Serengeti of her bottomless brain.
Time does not stop at the edge of those Atoms.

This time, while the bifurcating histories split the hairs of the Mannequin ---
the Desert  Sphinx begins to glow with subatomic kundalini in the subspace between the field of consciousness and the void.
Ten billion dandelions could not be wrong.
Electromagnetic frequencies trip the switches of the Sea Lion's Heart.

In this feverish plunge through the wanton disregard for Selflessness that is their Secret  love story, which will never end, never begin, doesn't even exist:
 A meteor of fuzzy logic shoots like the Laughter of Zeus through the white pages of the Jungle;
 the  inevitable tragedy becomes inevitable.
 in the rainforest, the sky canopy begins to sizzle in alchemical ghosts.

Thunderbolts cascade through their jewel flavored abdomens. Their eyes glow in serpentine vowels, spilling venom and ink into the wisdom of the book of Genesis,

the ancient Scribe disappears, it's footsteps mirrored in the Vanishing Point of the Immaculate Conception.
***

On whirlwinds of the Unborn child's imagination,

the ecosystem of it's Mother's Soul  turns in cycles of strange pauses,
elemental fevers, the laughter of light bearing lycanthropes.
The floor of heaven; the ceiling of Hell.  Stairwells racing with
creatures on the edge of their own skin.
A series of fish eyed men in trenchcoats, turning the dials on machines made of broken televisions.
An old man, eating a hat.
They dwell on the edge of the Human eye;

like
skeletons

dancing under the mirrored ball,

every cheekbone
burning with Philosopher tears
 
Zillions of zephyrs in syzgy of scintilla racing through the Temple of The Palindromic Placenta in a pandemonium of promethean paradox!
From ten trillion light years away, her ghost is a Mozart, singing the Zauber Flote, animandosi, to a dandelion forged by the streetlights of Aldebaraan.

Lightning lifts the sheets from the bed of the two two headed jaguars who

have buried their childlike faces in fields of yellowy  mandrake of her

Night of Life beyond Life beyond Compare. 

The scent of the mandrake billows in florid nerve endings from underneath the Witches' evening gown.

She laughs. 
Echoes churn in the diamond sutra of the Clitoris at the End of Time.
On the edge of the Rainforest, her twelve white beards, glowing like the

beak - tongues of trumpeter swans ---
are lost in the neural honeycomb of dead

men's tears, boiling pitch of Improbably Lights into connectionist hues of unknown colors

distilled from the  unsolid ground in orgasms of the final dreamtime, every photon chasing

itself into the honey - hive of God's paradox shaped heart
 swimming into the inner space of the deep green Summertime Sky.

Cornflowers, the fingertips pause on the edge of Eve's fleshy anvil;
the Garden of Eden

grows drunk with tiny inhuman feet that move in mechanical pitter patter

towards the point of Heaven's No Return Return, 

until the wicked skin of the  Jaguars begins to spit strange fires that

tremble with the power of seven billion suggestions.

The Mozart behind the Moon, leaps through fiery corpuscles of the magicians poetry into the infernal incantations of

the Elephantine bridegroom. 
 Her heart bustles in sidewalks of DNA composed by a Priests'

wicked glossolalia.

From the Tortoises of Galapagos to the aisles of the first
Wal Mart in Utopia; 

Sequences of energy sprout like polka dots on a breakfast table.

Chameleons feed heart of the Noble Savage into the Circus Lion's mouth,

using only the language of the Helenic Wars --- one thousand
ships, mirrored sails  boiling in the deadness of the Sailor's

tongue like altocumulus falling into the sea;

every black seam of insanity burning it's way into the civilization in wild

unforgivable hues of incomprehensible negativitu.

And in this spirit darkened trance of organ and nerve,
flesh blushing in triangles and exotic perfumes, pheremones trickling

through the pores of turtle prayers on their
way through cavernous limbos---

the last memory of humanity hovers in perpetual gedanken, uncontrollably

changing on permutations of impermanent impermanence best remembered as

evolutionary revolutions.

And in this magic jungle, as time expands in the leopard spots

shapeshifting in the glitter drunk sky, a prismatic array of magical

species  burn themselves into the love poems of God,

every single one singing a thousand names the wind has never been able hear

itself thinking.

She dwells in the Furnace of Untranslatable Tears.

***

a green being, lifting it's heart into the sun with  golden tendrils of snakeskin

tripping through the peyote smile

 of mermaid's scales into yellow fingered ferns,

while the God of the Leviathan opens it's eyes into it's mother's mouth.
 

In the subterranean light,

the pollen of her Soul explodes in bombs of ultraviolet charisma,

bleeding the endless  Utopian psychosis from  under the newborn City's shapeshifting spine

The flood fevered stamens of Hell  blush like the audience hypnotized by Socrates suicide in the Athenian daylight. 

a trillion light years away:

A blue eyed woman bathes her soul in the negative image of the rainbow,


as her life  is being deconstructed by Magicians of the Open Heart. 

She pivots on a blind eye  toward a sky infected with laser beam souled

sparrows.

The sparrows move like Charlie Chaplin's shadow;  swarming in pools

of liquid energies. 

This is the Equinox of Pandemonium; a place of total certainty;

where the night watchman drifts through

a vapor of prostitute's pheremones,

burying his ghost in the light of the chlorine colored sky as

his spirit froths over in a ballet of asymmetrical parallax.

Her mother's heart ascends in vocal fire ,

shooting into the star spangled night, like Dolphins bathed in a

Rosicrucian thrum

as the Queen's mouth becomes a candelabra of lust and

The angels in the courtyard multiply in

gambits of antedeluvian fibonacci,

across a chess board  haunted by nine million

Madmen whose faces are perfectly identical.

The Salvation Machine comes to life; 

it's calculations are instantaneous and eternally irreversible.

Everyone moves in perfect rhythm, as if choreographed by the Angels.

The bodies of the Being outside of G-d

circle the sky in halos and UFO's of empty skin.

The summertime sky echoes in clouds that charge the night with
epitaphs of poetry that make sense only to the

Unborn Child sleeping like Godot deep in the catacombs of your eyes.
Every moment is weirder than the next.

The mothership arrives, begins to ascends into the sky

leaping through the pores of human skin.

A doctor walks in to the Jungle.

His eyes are  cathedrals churning with atheist prayers  of Orchids engaged in the  Conspiracy of Whirlwinds.

 ***

spiraling out of the Fibonacci sequence---
a gestalt  of integers in gedanken

 sleeping in the green jewels

of her dirt drunk flesh
erupts  into an electromagnetic ribbon of the  Christ's 

chakra cycle as  the universe churns in perpetual motion into
 
the Crucifixion of a

gamma ray of deja vu billowing in the prayer shawl of the Ionosphere.

Far down below, on the rainforest floor, a series of communion wafers murmurs the Lost Name, every syllable suspended in the negative entropy of mysterious tongues unfurled in flags of unfinished silence.

Midnight after midnight, minuets of stigmata trip through the flesh of the holy madmen, who find themselves balancing the equations of Heaven and Hell in the lost space between Dusk and Dawn.
With each intricate calculation, the algebra of angels sends
 their souls soaring straight into the darkness that is boiling up from deep inside every common fruit.

From her Chauffered casket, she balances Chopin's mazurka number 9 in the nerve clusters of MC Escher's fingertips.

Her nostrils flare. A wild eyed Prophet elopes into the galactic starlight coded in the maelstrom of her shapeshifting tattoos.

Locusts swarm in the fiery desert of her Imagination.

In the moment of the orgasmic conjuration of Love,  Picasso runs his fingernails down the chalkboard of her neck.
Guernica bursts into rapid fire eyelessness.

God found God bombing God's heart with Nihilistic Vowels in the heat field of a dying bulls eye.
The black A, the Omniscient O  of an Alphabetic Green U. of the Universe turning into the  Yellowy I of  Incomplete Nothingness, a trillion Blue Ee's marching into Shangri La.

She comes to life like a ray of light, quivering in a spasm of ruby tigers.

Spiritual synesthesia! At the end of a long standing dirge, myth resonates with the truest lies of an unfinished God on the edge of it's own beginning.

Inside the skull, inside the brain, inside the occipital cortex; inside a neuron, inside a protein, an amino acid is singing Aria 51.

 A moment of desire unleashes Prometheus from inside the DNA of her neurons. Probability fires, blessed by the fool's laughter---
swing through the sky on garlands of chameleon eyelids.

Scarlet hues, turquoise allegories, crimson haiku.
Her fingers slip into the dead man's heart, retrieving yellow flowers of broken light from deep inside the cloudlike curtains of Her memory.
***

A trillion variables sweep through the eyes of the dead rock stars

in whirlwinds of Phrygian logos,

 whisking monsoons of Hindu gossip across the Summit of Mount Everest,

 where the snowflake is a discotheque of Darkness.

The shadow of God slips through her  her central nervous system as it escapes the clutches of a nest of pinecones.

The mountaintop erupts in astronaut's footprints.

Fibonacci sequence of the Kundalini Serpent begins to howl, in the nocturnal dirges of the black widow  of Heaven's Saintly psychosis.

Her feet slip into the mercurial clouds of cirrus wind  trembling with aeons of  grasshopper poetry.

Jazz escapes from the Priests' pet raindrop.

 The night turns translucent, as Prophets of the Real World spiral through the synaptic sephiroth and temple - chalices of Unbearable Solitude.

The veins on the Goddess' arms sparkle with serpentine seams of light hidden deep inside the Kingdom of White Noise,  every corpuscle charged with the Impossible Fear of Being Born. 

Pink flamingos lay their eggs in dead men's ears.

 Trapped in this war between geometric fantasies, the Cameras of the Last Movie peer through human skin

as the omniscient  God resurrects into another endless rediscovering of it's own infinite being.

Strange colors without any known names circle the eyes of the Verb Magician in rhythms unfamiliar to all.

 the Priests of Greek Delirium spread vegetable fires in the eyes of the Sybils of Eleusis.

Deeper still, in a regression of nine dimension ecstasies,

 the Moment of Infinite Peril stirs with the birth pangs of the Hierarchy of Mothers.

Child by child, eyes of every new born ocean open into the Starlit chambers of the Angelical Host, every  element of the Universe whirring into fantasias of the Life beyond Life of the Life that Lives

***

within the looms of constellating phosphorescence  ---

 the  promethean metaphor,  

Andromeda  and Christ  Pantocrator --

 She follows  Mystery into the Temple of the Last Engine,

 until  there is a Moment ---

She unwinds. Her voice,  light infused wing of  wind  ---

 the white wine of silence,

 tripping seahorses across the dolphin's eye,

waves fluttering upon the crushed ocean shore of unfinished Verbs

that tempts the language of language into a cartwheeling colour,

 coral urchins coiled inside the Life wish of Voids,

crashing of the waves of the Infernal King

breeds this Nounless Now of the Eternal Return,

 an infinite number of Lives and luminescent lemniscates

 that whirl the worlds,

 Celestial  paeans of thunder making magic; 

Ourobouros & Anemone,

 One by one ---  the stars  elucidating photons upon

the Wheels of  the Magi;

circles of the cellular nuclei of Lions, Ezekiel's light infused eyelids,

winged valentines of star faced antelopes and unsolved rubiks' cubes,

broken toys like Sailors faces,  the Supercomputing Rainforest,

memories of Hamlet whirling in sand dunes

 spiked with mermaid whiskers,

subatomic shadows of the Apostolic shadow

rolling over and over in orgasm curve of unfinishing of Space and time.

Combine, recombine.

On the upside down world, a ladybug on the surface of the lake

She has chosen to become: the Astronaut of Emptiness,

in the Sea of Tranquility she finds an isolated throne,

Moment by moment, her fingertips roll,

like angels falling in the summertime rain,

the corpse crowned by Love in the Messianic hallows where

 ghosts describe their love affair

with the Simulacrum of Time.

In every  broken computer cell

 there grows the stochastic imagination.

She is burning.  Her consciousness is a series of inaudible clicks,

wires stretched between two Infinite Polarities .

Ourobouros howls in her bone, like a highway 

 On the tight rope of time.

 Her muscles glow, brooding nightshade of

Kites

and the triumphant sight  of Russian violins,

dancing kalinka in her unfrozen legs

white  strings of the wine of wind

flocking into snowflakes of her sexual metaphor.

Over strawberry faced moons;  into the eyes of sleeping sturgeons --

a world of deep sea fish,

 laughing rhythms of the anemone into the preternatural Shining

of  Love's parabolic whirl

Sway.  the Gentle light of the Millenium;  on the Mountain of

the Here and Now,

She turns around the One of Ones

Her eyes are floodlit nurseries,

 a maternity ward of phantasmagoric children,

incomprehensible to all but the Angelic Host dancing

in the  Sacred  _______.

One by one her tears trip into the Palace Cage,

where spin the  Gravity of Ballerinas.

They twirl, bonfire up the thundercloud --

 up through the brick walls, down into the gulley and the Leviathan's

gilded corpse of jeweled meat

This ancient city, those

Towers of the Broken Glass --- echo in real time  with

ten trillion  Diamond Sutras,

 it's heart is radioactive

 as Oppenheimer's tongue,

 and day by day, the Garden of Stars

boils in a thermonuclear hush,

 the wine of the wind,

where a white shroud of caterpillars

 is seeking the Nun's face at Twilight.

Purple canyons full of blood swept bats billow in the hot wind.

She remembers no memory;  only Spiritual fission;

 her soul divides by zero in the Algebra of the Alhambra Hotel,

and in the Night of the Lost Seattle,

There are strange men --- burying human hearts

in the amphitheatre of Sorrow --- three o'clock in the morning.

The moon is a witches tit.  Milk and lies, the unholy weather

spinning in the powers of Time that got them where

there's no becoming.  

A tribe of cadillacs roams through the City.

 It is being driven by Pan, and Circe --- they have lifted the veil

from the doorway of the Unborn Hive.

The ascent into the future in the Uterus of God

has begun.

Microwave symphonies --- codex of wires,

holy electrodes,

 buildings full of skin burnt graffiti of orphaned mystics ---

sway, tremble --- charging dissonant Interference patterns into the

otherworldly glow of the anarchist's extopia.

At night:  first a photon, then the Sun;  the Galaxy of God, the Language of Nineveh,

a multiverse of Unfinished Beings arrives; molecular clockworks of worlds within

worlds within worlds, spinning and singing, singing

the bodily flesh with  exotic dirges of the

recombinatorial majesty of Heaven's spiritual abacus,

where --- in  an infinity of mirrored mirrors, rainbows like Newton's

children

break out from the skin, sweeping the candlelight into pools of proteins as the wounded flesh of God

exhales it's own unforgettable name.

Shangri La, the Lady sang.  A wild thing, hanging from the ceiling. 

The orchid glances at her bullet wound.

The Sun dial fucks a heron.

  Wild neurons exchange theoretical wedding vows with

an imaginary constellation bathed in translucent embryos of the Emperor's ego.

 The bathwater becomes crimson, strange ghosts swimming in crystalline candelabras of transhuman logic.

The room sings.

 Her eyes are knit and stitched in heavenly atomic apostasies through the eyes of death defying buddhas.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, drifting into the nitrogen swell of a Greek heat,

begins to whisper the first minuet of his Mother's sweetest sweet nothings.

Olympian Angels --- the Luciferian Courtyard --- grow,

every tendril of flesh coming unburied in the sleeping

skin of newborn beings,
opening with the empty eyes  of a dreaming dreamer into the

world of concrete buildings and human faces, where Kings tumble down sidewalks

billowing in carbon monoxide ghosts, chased by the Sorcerers of the Kalashnikov Night.

Suddenly, the moment the clock begins to spin; the events inside his brain

immediately correspond with the events of the world around him.

Time becomes that which it is not; Space collapses in a series

of fevers punctuated by the heat death of the First Night without Warning.

***

Sirens in city.  a nightmare in the key of vampire laughter.
everywhere one goes, the lightning strikes;
 the eyelid spontaneously combusts
Staccato Gunfire; it sounds  like Chopin
while a woman's scream flickers on the tongue of the television,
it's like being french kissed by a Cobra 
You will now go home to write.
turn the Ink of the dream
into a bloody stain of memory.
*

The city skyline juts in jigsaw puzzles and dinosaur jawbones;
a slow moving smoke, haze of blowtorches burning
in broken symmetry,
until the sky is full of  UFO's, the pearl necklaces of Eden,
 careening to vaguely audible psychedelic applause
and in the clouds --- which are no longer clouds, but have been replaced by
strange salts imported from Charlie Manson's cerebellum
otherworldly portraits of otherworldly 

beings shapeshifte, ballerinas trapped gasoline rainbows
the demon  colored sky
writhing like Edgar Allen Poe's eyeballs in broken glass,
where silvery steel Frankensteins clutch aluminum foil roses,
 from the rooftops of glass skyscrapers
signals of a million forgotten species
rise like daydreams of the Trillionth Dawn,
every moment the atomic structure of every non living being, secretly
 wooshing with the thinly disguised life wishes
of the Djinn.

Random numbers leap from roof to roof, fueled by transcendental equations,

every tick of the clock exploding with
Jazz, running like salmon against  the ecosystems of Death.

until Neutrons of the woman's eggshell colored skin begin to chant themselves

into an open wound of wounds that has no beginning or end.

Sapphires run wild through the city. 

but still:
the audience assassinates Hamlet the moment he steps onto the stage.

Something has gone wrong.  Ophelia pouts swollen lips into a broken mirror.

Tides of mystery crash through incomprehensible patterns of ancient
bardic consciousness,

leaving footprints rich with sadomasochistic riddles in a field drunk with

the daydreams of dew bathed acorns.

Christ's body is lowered from a Mimosa tree

A trillion women exhale a single unreal tear.

The tear is Hot and moist, like the walls of the Parthenon.
Her tongue explodes into
a rainforest of carnivorous words being devoured by cannibal sentences.

Her mother's womb becomes the casket of Michaelangelo;
from ten centuries away, he carves his name into her Ovaries.

Birth by birth, the throat of the Goddess
 swarms with canticles of bumblebee poetry.

This is the lost scene of permanent
Salvation; the nerve cells of ten trillion

trillion living beings flutter with God's heartache,
spinning into
hypnogagic reverie.

Algebraic fire burns her brain into tragic wastelands of empathy.

Her body explodes in antiparticles, like laughter at the funeral of God.

Imaginary breaths leap from heart to heart.

The sorrow of the moonless sky.  A white fish bathed in green fire.

Madness of infinite God. Three parallel lines licking her earlobes
in the bedroom made of seashells.

THe streetlam flickers; she finds her flesh wrapped in a prayer shawl
of raw meat.

It is not a wound.  It is the doorway into the madness of the Infinite God.

A billion light years worth of Max Planck's memories washes on the ocean

shore next to 5th Avenue.

Manhattan is the Leviathan's mouth.  Death becomes the turning point.

The party begins the moment the Palace self assembles around a tibetan

hummingbird's beak.

Pink noise; center stage, a clown faced girl is dancing the Shakespearean

tango.   Her heart pulses in brownian motion.

Every whisper is an echo of Socrates death gasp; the sky is painted in

tones of scarecrows lost in perfect chiaruscuro,

the feathered loops of fog that worships itself in the machine forged

mantra of the juxtaposition of Eternity. 

***

the human face ... is a question that cannot be answered,

but by  the Curiosity of the Uncreated Creator

that strange power of the Unknown Unknowns

we live in temples like the fingertips of flame

tripping nimbly into thresholds of the unfinished 'whatever it is'  

 a blue sky drinking a blue ocean exhaling a blue sky  --

ten trillion impossible questions  in infinite regress,

the face of God boiling in

the probability field of the summertime Soil,

 where the Angels play dice with Spider's eyes.

There are moments of extremely wise stupor.

In that still air,

when the waking world dissolves into the

geometry of the night,

musculature curving in the uncalculated motion

of freedom

and one finds broken seashells

reassembling in the mirror.

every Question is a stranger's face,

 converging in the evolution of hypothesis

 at the rate of ten undiscovered

Universes per moment.

 Truth:  carouselambra caravanserai?

Truth:  a broken machine howling the

Tetragammatron at the End of Time? 

Truth:  your smile,  igniting the City of the Anarchist Quarks.

Where we're waltzing like two hurricanes across hot

coals in the vacant lot between the Sistine Chapel and the nearest Autozone.

At midnight, you realize it is 3:AM;

The Knights Templar invade your Kitchen. 

Outside your window, the

Troupe of Disembodied Brain Fairies are dancing in the street.

A strange woman, her eyes like japanese video games --- her skin a green temple of

lichens and alien god-spores, strolls down the Suburban street.

She is everywhere and no-body all at once.  Her eyes move from mouth
to mouth like tomatos during the Vampire apocalypse.

She is writing songs with her footprints.

Every lyric sings of the shadowy essence of Life in the Land of Unopened Umbrellas.

the universe does a strip tease, Sunrise

 like a Vegas Casino trapped in an event

horizon the flavor of subatomic ice cream.

A tear shaped dolphin swims through the shopping mall.

Inside your eye, the dolphin's face is sucking the blueness from
a lost gamma ray.

The ocean licks itself; the bonfire grows a shadow cat ---

the tribe grows drunk on nonsense poems.

Somewhere, Lewis Carroll is laughing.  The Jabberwock has him trapped

inside a Jabberwock poem.  The entire scene is like a starlit soaked

newborn, naked as the sacredheart of the most ancient Madonna,

leaping from  into

thundercloud to thundercloud in the slow motion of

roses coming unburied in the delight of G-d.

Twelve ordinary people, who are pretending to be absolute strangers, have

assembled in the tangled gazebo of the Vine of the Preternaturally Dead.

A dream of red wine wraps itself around a woman's wrist.

Ten puppet hearted vagabonds dance into the Bible, receiving the wounds of

Christ in a scene left out of Genesis, where the Serpent begins quoting

French symbolist poetry until the Garden of Eden is balanced between the

colors blue and yellow again.

Nine cloudlike curtains billow like a virgin's heartache.

The stage is set with a troupe of Dream Thieves,

speaking th magic cant of Divine Actors, their silver tongues spinning the

legends of tarot cards in self replicating whispers of gypsies.

 ***

It is midnight.  The moon breaks like an egg upon the  blackbirds beak,

Apollinaire steps into the Laws of God.

The World of the Unborn Machine

evolves through the bacteria under his fingernails.

 A trill of  tachyons bathing in mirror neurons 

turns  curls of  the light into fractalline ecosystems of  dandelion wine

that floats on the violin shaped tongue of  this  Sufi magician,

whose chromosomes recombine in the Key of a ventriloquist quasar.

The POET: APOLLINAIRE

 disappears into the Mirage of Unanswered Prayers,

 leaving his own corpse to dissolve

like sugar on the unfinished smile of an Anonymous Self.

The secret flame of this Starface --- is the

curved elopement of the Hieronymous  albedo; the Illuminated

lunacy of the Moonlit woosh, a  Shining Path igniting the filaments of

the scarlet Garden, one verb cross pollinating one verb,

 becoming the Sacred Noun, Outside of Ordinary  Time.

From the Zenith of the Syzygy;

The Cat faced child is lost in the  enchanted Anemone 

and lifts the eyelids of  the Queen of the Wilderness Heaven;

 she turns, into herself ---

 obsessed with the mystery play of Neptune's Cloud gypsies

 and --- is brandishing

 the permutations of the  Name, flickering hisses and rolling moans off

 tongues of newborn aliens,  until one by one,

their souls flutter across the earth on angelical

 feathers of newborn beings,

stirred into the sacrifice of leaving the negative infinity by the

Lure  of Life inside APOLLINAIRE'S ever evolving

 nativity scene.

Far down, through a series of well timed vaginas, 

the dream life  of wild honey

dissolves into a Seance 

on the edge of the watering hole ripe with blue flamingoes

where her future insanities  flow into the starlight

of blue eyed  waterfalls and perfect elephantine lunatics,

 chanting proverbs of cellular nuclei into the

ears of the Open Throated  Silence.

She becomes a single note, whirling in the permutations, 

dividing Zero by Zero  in a composition of non linear

 improbability waves.

And as She airmails her  Mother's face into the Abyss of the Louvre,

the He that is a She that is Nobody at all,

 wraps  a white shawl across her sacred heart, until in a cascade of

harmonious surrender, the whole Universe quivers, trembles,

 turns and exhales the

name of paradise towards the light -  drunk dandelions  of

the Maternity Wards of  Aldebaraan.

From inside the flowering mouth of those winter minarets,

 the Mosque of the human heart

burns  in vivid  embers of  proteins falling in love,

murmuring the the name of Lucifer's lost Sparrow,

sweet nothings of  spell bound bird bones rising up into

 the skyline of a City full of lives

being written by the unknown deviltry of  Spaceship Earth.

****

the geranium is weeping the silence of it's mother;

A lone star faces the Guillotine of Night, 

the perfume of music thundering under the Priestess of the

Emptiness of skin.

At midnight, the executioner remembers his Mother's face.

One by one the flames of intuition create patterns of

 inhuman eyes in a ballet of  perfect blindness.

A protein sings the nonsense poetry of disembodied Shamans through the face of a knotted pinecone.

Twelve thousand pyramids explode on the Ocean floor.

The Pharoah of Atlantis sends love letters into the edge of Astronaut's eye.

The world is made naked again,

ten trillion lies of ten trillion living beings

 circling an eardrum the shape of God's funeral casket.

On the summit of Mt. Everest, in the Cathedral of  Unfinished Verbs,

 the Old Man of the Mountain spins threads of lightning that descend 

into the Village of her Infinite Being,  whispering rumors of the 

heat seeking  integers of Shangri La.

***

She hovers on wingtips of the dragon fly buddha,

training the embryo of God in contemplation of the soul  stamen.

a Memory Palace of  Divine Hesitation,

 burying the seeds of her unfinished

 children in the graveyard  between the Convenience Stores

where the

 Seers see nothing except their own faces in the breaking glass the

miracle unfolding

Cell by cell,

 as the Man Machine  discovers

LOGOS structured  in it's  machine gun fire,

every page of every unwritten book

 churning with negative entropy,

 racing across the boundary thresholds of the Isolate Quark;

a taut haunt of  hallowed hallucinations,

purchasing  stories that begin:

Welcome to Synapse #667.

Where the  flesh ignites with the flood, light curves on the tongue

and the  songs of the caravanserai of Timbuktu,

carouselambras of Shangri La,

slip in fairy tale feasts into the Halls of

 the Hotel Olympus,  where the room service

feeds the Tourists  locusts and wild honey

to prove:

nothing ever happens, except that strange Salvific turn

of the deserted heart,

blooming as the hair raises on the back of your neck  

God by God by God becomes the  Flower of Life

that begins without beginning or end,  and the beginning of Time

down through a freckle, a cell,  a protein, an amino acid, the DNA,

adenine, hydrogen, the electron, the quark --- until somewhere

Max Planck and Einstein divide Zero by Zero and get: ONE

completing the  transubstantiation of MAYA into THOUGHT

that dissolves like sugar into

TS Eliot's fading smile. 

 ***

Memories of  the Two,  swimming ultraviolet thunder,

 leaving the nightmares of Jesuit Priests chasing

wild songbirds into the All Seeing Eye.

Under the auspicious curve of Lucifer's gaze

a zebra harvests the exhalations of star struck  aphids,

 smiling Sphinx to Sphinx in the Temple of

Impermanent Impermanence.

The strange attractor of ten trillion maternity wards

wooshes in a hurricane  of Genomes and

an endless procession of patterns into patterns,

with the Kingdom of Heaven

revolving in the thermal rise

 of a feathers spiraling up against the sidewalk and the sky into

the place where cotton candy discovers it's mother

lurking in the starlight of the Zoo

where the Conjurations  of spiritual daredevils,

the Ibex and the  Unicorn ---

dare themselves to fly into her tears

 in triple time.

***

Eternity pauses on the edge of a thought stained face

The newborn star,

pausing to flood the world with it's light of it's first delusory oscillation

---  gasps in the key of D minor.

Footsteps of Columbus echo in the Uterus of her Face;

the rainforest inhales a thousand CC's of methylethylketone

 a Shopping Mall is built on the bones of dying robots

and the Circus tent explodes

---

in the Lion Tamer's eye

infinity billows  like Salvador Dali's mystical hymen.

a crocodile slides it's tongue into the rivery wallows of the  silence

pulsing in the Vegetable Goddess' lipstick of heat seeking

chlorophyll

High above

the parallel lines

a  skull is born

constellations of coincidence

self organize into  a convergence point of furies and graces.

Her soul trips

through the geometry of fate

into the love songs of catfish

sleeping on a paper plate.

Manhattan trembles in the Void of Godel's incompleteness theorem.

The djinn, it's skin pulsing across rooftops with the fevered waltz of sexual mystery -- spins like a white lie through the circuitry of Leviathan.

This is the broken black wing of the haunted wedding cake trembling in the engine of God's tastebuds.

In the chanting electromagnetic wheels of her deepest non - being, Ophelia's mitochondria is rehearsing the Journey of Dante's eyelash from the first Discotheque of Nirvana into the cradle of ferns on Gondwanaland's fern breathing floors.

The sky scintillates with Lithium phantasmagoria and

 the silent whitecaps of  a nursery rhyme

***

She hovers on wingtips of the dragon fly buddha,

training the embryo of God in contemplation of the soul  stamen.

a Memory Palace of  Divine Hesitation,

 burying the seeds of her unfinished

 children in the graveyard  between the Convenience Stores

where the

 Seers see nothing except their own faces in the breaking glass the

miracle unfolding

Cell by cell,

 as the Man Machine  discovers

LOGOS structured  in it's  machine gun fire,

every page of every unwritten book

 churning with negative entropy,

 racing across the boundary thresholds of the Isolate Quark;

a taut haunt of  hallowed hallucinations,

purchasing  stories that begin:

Welcome to Synapse #667.

Where the  flesh ignites with the flood, light curves on the tongue

and the  songs of the caravanserai of Timbuktu,

carouselambras of Shangri La,

slip in fairy tale feasts into the Halls of

 the Hotel Olympus,  where the room service

feeds the Tourists  locusts and wild honey

to prove:

nothing ever happens, except that strange Salvific turn

of the deserted heart,

blooming as the hair raises on the back of your neck  

God by God by God becomes the  Flower of Life

that begins without beginning or end,  and the beginning of Time

down through a freckle, a cell,  a protein, an amino acid, the DNA,

adenine, hydrogen, the electron, the quark --- until somewhere

Max Planck and Einstein divide Zero by Zero and get: ONE

completing the  transubstantiation of MAYA into THOUGHT

that dissolves like sugar into

TS Eliot's fading smile. 

 ***

Memories of  the Two,  swimming ultraviolet thunder,

 leaving the nightmares of Jesuit Priests chasing

wild songbirds into the All Seeing Eye.

Under the auspicious curve of Lucifer's gaze

a zebra harvests the exhalations of star struck  aphids,

 smiling Sphinx to Sphinx in the Temple of

Impermanent Impermanence.

The strange attractor of ten trillion maternity wards

wooshes in a hurricane  of Genomes and

an endless procession of patterns into patterns,

with the Kingdom of Heaven

revolving in the thermal rise

 of a feathers spiraling up against the sidewalk and the sky into

the place where cotton candy discovers it's mother

lurking in the starlight of the Zoo

where the Conjurations  of spiritual daredevils,

the Ibex and the  Unicorn ---

dare themselves to fly into her tears

 in triple time.

***

Eternity pauses on the edge of a thought stained face

The newborn star,

pausing to flood the world with it's light of it's first delusory oscillation

---  gasps in the key of D minor.

Footsteps of Columbus echo in the Uterus of her Face;

the rainforest inhales a thousand CC's of methylethylketone

 a Shopping Mall is built on the bones of dying robots

and the Circus tent explodes

---

in the Lion Tamer's eye

infinity billows  like Salvador Dali's mystical hymen.

a crocodile slides it's tongue into the rivery wallows of the  silence

pulsing in the Vegetable Goddess' lipstick of heat seeking

chlorophyll

High above

the parallel lines

a  skull is born

constellations of coincidence

self organize into  a convergence point of furies and graces.

Her soul trips

through the geometry of fate

into the love songs of catfish

sleeping on a paper plate.

Manhattan trembles in the Void of Godel's incompleteness theorem.

The djinn, it's skin pulsing across rooftops with the fevered waltz of sexual mystery -- spins like a white lie through the circuitry of Leviathan.

This is the broken black wing of the haunted wedding cake trembling in the engine of God's tastebuds.

In the chanting electromagnetic wheels of her deepest non - being, Ophelia's mitochondria is rehearsing the Journey of Dante's eyelash from the first Discotheque of Nirvana into the cradle of ferns on Gondwanaland's fern breathing floors.

The sky scintillates with Lithium phantasmagoria and

 the silent whitecaps of  a nursery rhyme

***

From their secret location inside the magic gazebo of
the Pentagon of Infinite Green-ness brewing inside a solitary blade of grass,
Lao Tzu and the Magician Houdini  have curved the Still Point of
Synchronicity into a perfect Unasked Question -
 and in each breath of  each breath's breathless breathing,
quark by quark they forge the world
into  the sudden fire of New Eyes,
spinning  trillions of  heartbeats
into a moment of the perfectly synchronized uni - pulse,
a  symphony of blood, coursing in the Labyrinth of Endless Being
every moment 
the flesh of all creation swelling  in wave upon wave of  thunder
coming unburied, like the Uncreated Creator
churning in the  soul mad soil
as the chant of the spiritual acrobats
rises up in the foglike Cities in the Field of Time,
every motion of every Architect
every tear of the Engineer
every  Mother's womb, a Cathedral of the Mystery 
transcending every Atom, transcending every word,
there, where the kaleidoscopic eye finds Buddha
building yet another love mad Being,
beginning in
the inhalations and exhalations
of  the fairy tale  laughter  of the dream of  Shangri La. 
Strange Beings have assembled,
in the  Congress of the empty Sky,
while Human Spirit disappears
 in a flood of green light on the Horizon, 
and on the beach
where God is waiting,
 Canary tongues writhe in the beauty queen's hair.

She lifts the communion wafer  eyes
of the  musicians lost inside the Autumn sky,

and spins the Orchestra on the Z-Axis,
turning the Symphony into an Impressionist painting,
Monet and Mozart
tumbling through a field a counterpoint and pointillism,
wave by wave,
the strange Sun seething.
Nobody realizes the Universe is turning itself inside out.

 But it is too late.

She trips. Soldiers march into the number line. 

Every footstep changes the World

in unfathomable ways.  Colors weep soft Molecular quaverings; 

her distant lover's

funeral casket rising up from the ground.  She screams like an Owl.

In that moment; the mirage of human flesh enters the World.

and the Divine Madman steps into the Void.  His eyes are

Ghastly nightshade.  His fists clutch poisoned lotus blossoms;

his face is hallucinogenic, severe; a twisted knot of oak and flame,

burnt embers of some unholy mass of tangled bone and sinew ---

casting it's shadow into the impenetrable ground underneath the

Satyr's cloven feet.

One bird eye exhales a trillion stars. The stars are canaries,  inhaling

 a trillion white hot luciferian parallel lines.

It is the salvation of the exponential mythology;

a wilderness of civilized breakdowns, every star orchid flaming

with green speech,

heartbeats synchronized by the convergence of the Chemical Fire,

rising and falling in the brine of the magician's tongue.

Tidal waves of imaginary beings sweep through the serotonin oceans.

The Cathedral of Verbs oscillates in endless compassion of the

Permutations of the Jewel Tree.

***

A strange girl with optic fiber eyelashes;

has a heart full of insane machines running amok like rebel black holes during the  Armaggedon of her perpetual bedtime.

From far away inside an Aesops's Fable,

we  watched in perfect silence as

She  laughed at the thought of

herself  laughing,

even as the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe escaped the real world into her moonstruck skull.

On the edge of the curb --- where She sometimes sleeps to remember

 the fantasias of endless imagination lurking between the alternate worlds -- 

there,  at the bottom of the sky,

 where everything descends into broken glass and  graffiti --

 a paranoid mad man

has a bumble bee trapped on his  enchanted taste buds

 as he plays chess with

God in a secret room in the television studio of God's Immortal  Eye.

 The fate of the universe is completely random,

the Nurses begin to  whisper in the

wings of Shakespeare's maternity ward.

The infant Shakespeare nods,

his eyes scanning history the way a blind man

scans  the moment of his death.

 In this city --- between the Name and the Infinite curvature of it's Secret heart,

in that place  where the Hindu angels run like psychotic ballerinas

 through the Scylla and Charibdes of

a post card trapped on the fingertips of an Orphan,

  the footsteps of enchanted vagabonds fall in petalled phosphorescence.

and it is known:  on Tuesday, Pablo Picasso strides the

shopping malls,  misquoting King Kong until

 something stirs in the bulls eye of Guernica.

It was in the aftermath of that Alien departure;

the Leprous madmen made love to rabid madwomen on the rooftops of the laboratory

at dawn, where the whirlwinds of kinetic motion ride the flesh

of angels whose skin

is dressed like  Buddha in the synthetic blueness of their inhuman faces.

Somewhere in Texas, an Emperor Beetle --- green as Cleopatra's toenails,

 floods the sidewalk with it's vision of Mediterranean civilization.

The people in the Pizza Hut begin to remember the Songs of the Whales,

on the Television between advertisments for Gasoline rainbows.

Without warning:

Isis knocks on Jesus Christ's skull.  Who answers?

The City --- in that moment, came to life like a roulette wheel the color

of  poet ovaries.

The Human face suddenly disintegrated, photon by photon,

 until on the edge of the Lake of Translucent Moon Milk,

 There were ten old women, hunting wild blueberry muffins.

 A strange puzzle of cat   memories danced in the flower pocked field

 until everyone saw the  events in the mirror as nothing more than a series of mathematical equations.

 and the hour of  unfinished love approached as

 Michaelangelo stepped out of a black helicopter, with

a catalogue containing the secret names of  the Stars, 

and Twelve Nuns lost in the Las Vegas airport began controlling

the aircraft using only their rosary beads.

Dr. Frankenstein has lit a thousand torches across the burning runway,

where the new version of Joan of Arc was  just hired by the local McDonald's.

The rain is spiked;  their are liquid crystalline fractals of Element 777

running in rivulets down the Old Man's wrinkled earlobes.

Soft lies, spilling from the rooftop of the World  began howling green  flavored fables.

The rain does not whisper.  The rain just arrives.

As it falls, in the denouement of Summer --

 Atom by atom, a  million doorways open in his bellybutton like a mirrored reflection of the Eyelids of the Egyptian SPhinx.

 From this doorway slipped a zillion hummingbirds.

and finally, the Acorns began applauding the arrival of the Time Machines,

Saint shaped apparitions, revolving in the sky.

The hummingbirds --- draped in capes of wild color ---

 entered the Impressionist painting whispering the language of crickets and the nature of the Gifts of the  Magi.

At the top of the Sky, the chess game grows quiet and nobody wins.

The players  skin flushes with royal empathy.

 Christ hears the doorway of his Eye into the Pyramid swinging open.

The King's gambit that brought the civilized world to it's broken knees

zings across a crowded room, eye to eye, a thousand eyes like the number of smiles of Helen of Troy.

And as he entered this non local Cairo,

 he remembered his footsteps as they appeared in the cartoon version of the New Testament.

Atoms of  crocodile magic carried him from the Valley of the Kings into the Himalayan apex of the Queen of Heaven's mountain top ego.

On that blue tuesday, the man in the yellow fedora stood directly beneath St. Patrick's Cathedral, dreaming of the day God tied his shoes to the rhythm of an unrepeatable song.

 And the curtains were billowing in the dawn like his mothers cheekbones.

He'd cry, time and time again, to think of the first moment this endless birth.

With this sudden redefinition of love, the Queen of the Celestial Hive

bathed the Mask of this Undreamable Pierrot deep in the tears of her dying Grandmother's saddest love story.

Electronic fog of the skyless morning, a strange dramatic soliloquy devised by wild eyed sorcerers escaped into the sails of a tall ship, rushing out into the Asylums of the world.

 The Fairy Tale Kingdom is alive, like Ireland at the end of the World.

***

The Queen of Octagonal Thoughts tip toes into Forest in the next Universe, one atom by one atom by two molecules

of pinecone effluvia away ---

leaving a dizzying blur of subsonic pollinations in her path,

when suddenly --- an  audience of lightbeams assembles on the edge of her favorite  Sparrow's  beak.

The Sparrow surveys the Kingdom of Heaven with Messianic curiosity

The Queen of Octagonal Thought decodes the lightbeam the way some people decode the face of a passing stranger.

The forest grows wild, primitive --- owls chanting parallelograms of nonsense poetry,

rabid fire ants singing hymns to cherry blossoms --- ghosts of Badger Magicians whirling like Black Helicopters lost in the buttery sky --

Fairy Tale Elfs murmuring holy incantations of  Butterflies---

until in a whirling fluke of cosmic madness ---

Ten thousand violin faced crickets slip out of the Immortal soul,

 anointing themselves MYSTERY in the ever present face of God.

Time dilates with the laughter of a newborn witch.

Can she hear herself breathing the Zephyr of Joy? 

It is a miracle of Insanity.  The impossible?  The Unreal!

The previously even undreamt.

  The Eyes of Mystery have  bloomed.

 Leaves fall from the Tree and convert themselves using the

power of human wishes alone, into

a blinding swarm of  freshly hatched  UFO's.

On the edge of an unspoken verb, the Soul of Humanity

flowers into an Umbrella of deep sacred listening, and the Virgin's

 skin turns taut and wraps itself around her body like a cloud of

 sacred noise wrapping itself around the strange Ballerino Nijinsky's

left ear drum.

The audience begins to exhale.

 the diamondesque scent of paranoia.

Ten trillion scintillations pulse in the Jewel Tree.

From seventeen centuries away, Paganini's tongue strokes the flesh of a madwoman.

Her body curls like an embryo into an abstract painting as red and black as St. Valentine's broken heart.

Paganini turns Sleep into the Memory of Heaven.  In his eyes, the cavern of the night shivers with the discarded neurons of infinite recombinations of the Impossible.

 Something -- is seeking to be born.   On the edge of the Gallows,

a child begins laughing.

A membrane of creation glows like an unborn mouth on the blacksmiths anvil.

Sky transcends sky; God begat God begat God begat God into the Infinite Regress of magical numbers.

Her skin is a Palace of eldritch laughter --- cell by cell, her body nurses the schismatic peril of holy men trapped in heresies of the vertigo of human desire.

The human soul -- pouring it's fevered whispers onto the flesh of the dawn --- anoints the world with a pulse that is quickened
with each passing moment of the advent of Heaven into feathers of bird like beings carved from God purest self doubt.

Do I exist? The madman howls in the absence of light.

These crystalline phantoms elope on spacetime curves into pools of dream calculating raindrops.

Her antique flesh glows violet, as if painted by fingerprints of body snatching morticians.

The strangeness of the fragility of the inhuman world turns each instant into a scene from an ever changing Hiroshima of incomprehensible

human tragic sadness.

A troupe of actors, disguised as Christian Apostles, is suspended in the Theatre of the Void,

rehearsing a scene from Charlie Manson's most interesting memory.

The Lost Verb moves through the Exquisite cadaver in a blur of psychedelic wisdom,  --

the sky turns rich, and naked, a giant blue belly quivering in the dream of  ten trillion hallucinatory pregnancies.

***

A moment  of enchanted energies -- -   amino acids

 chanting proverbs of the myriad  flavors  of Time ---

proteins howling endless incantations of the Number Pi;

 enzymes whispering polysyllabic  invocations of the dreams that lurk in Salmon flesh ---

nucleotides star struck with the ten degrees of the philosophy of  hormones ---

rises on the wind and slips into the architecture of the human skin,

rolling through the Oxygen molecules of the breathlessness of God ,

enjoying the night, the periwinkle sheath of  starlit skin --

like an armada of Ouija boards levitating through the

Magus of Houdini's eyes.

The mirage of Saintly chiaroscuro cascades in foggy wisps of the

Diamond Soul Queen's Eyes,  her heart

breaking on this moment into dizzying ziggurats of consciousness

that is haunted by the love stories of the Sad White Angels.

Far through space and time,

deep in the Improbability Hotel ---

 a riot of the senses has developed.

 The Lion Faced Clock has struck the 13th of Never.

 Vowels of the Illuminated Jewel Tree of Nirvana

drift across the Sky, cross pollinating the Alpha with the Omega.

The century howls the madness of the Dissonant Divinity.

In the City of the Starless Night,  the Holy Spirit ascends in purple

parenthetic memories, flicker by flicker --- every proverb lighting the

Orphan's tears in a fusion of the Cyclotron and Jazz.

Her face is a tragic mask of perfect unforgivable misunderstanding.

Moment by moment, the Orphan's heart is blown into blue glass

by the cruciform

phantoms whose faces roll across the Sky

 towards the Salvation of the City.

She hangs her clothes to dry on the crucifix that haunts the moment of her birth.

In the dream War, the Sad Grey Angels have cast spells of salvation

without warning.

One by one, the gamblers dice are swollen with the embryo - light of perpetual  creation.

The television ignites like an unhealed wound of history.

The Orphan's casket filled with diamonds and wine.

She lifts the top off the Sky.  One by one the animals of the Serengeti

begin to disappear.

Honeybees die like Errol Flynn on the edge of the Grand Canyon.

The Girl of your Dreams is nowhere to be seen.

This is the science of the ultimate disaster.

The wisdom of the Serpent's upside down mouth.

The chrysalis unwraps it's invisible heart, leaving the world naked in the

venom of suffering.

An old man converses with the King of the Lost Heaven.

  It is a normal Friday,

somewhere in the World between Worlds.

The salt fire  of the heart broken stars

 rains the stories of God,

life after life becoming rich and  pooling into  the idea of sparrow flesh.

A cricket appears on the edge of my cup.

This is where the Vagabond charms the clouds into sinking into the

 ocean, one by one,

his delirious whims having been made sane.

The Robot Goddess -- howling PI,  struts by in a stainless steel rainbow.

Wood faced poets suck the heart of wild heaven dead

with the romance of this  nihilism.

A flame of unsung psalms burns in the particle accelerator of her heart.

As the quarks of Infinite Mystery dissolve into the ghost of God on the

Serengeti, her voice moves soul moves in an unearthly chorus of sacred

teardrops through boulevards of light erupting in a seagull's eye.

***

The Vortex of the communion wafer
writhes in nine part harmony through the  chromosomes  of
those Muses of Amusement, who --- being Local Non Locals,
are moving from Electron Shell to Electron Shell,
with hearts like punctuation marks  of the Book of Revelations;
beating an infinite pulse --- until every millenia,
the Flesh of  these Mysteries
opens & closes
exhaling and  inhaling entire Universes in a Single Breathe,
in perfect synchronicity with the footsteps of Christ Pantocrator, 

who finds himself laughing
and At the Birth of the First Tear of the Reappearing Twilight,
when ---
in that singular instant  She
 (who is She?) the audience gasps --
inherits the  Shining Path on the Moonlit  Tide

and freckle by freckle --- on the Seahorse of God's antedeluvian
memory
flutters in trillions of trills through the parachute of  her
inhuman skin ---

and Goddess  by Goddess, the Imaginary Beings descend,
falling through the Sky like Lady Godiva's smile,
Newton's Apple drops
into the Ionosphere above the Pentagon,
 falling through realms of pure ethereal scintilla,
whirling like the Ghost of Godot,
suddenly
shapeshifting 
into the Planck Time of her DNA,

where the flesh of  The Approximate Heavens ignites
with the host  angelical
 that have brewed in  the  mud and brine on
 movements corresponding with a Symphony of impermanence
 looped in the depths of
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's cerebellum.

In her face, on the curl of her mouth, there are a godzillion
Minor Keys ---
carousing in paragraphs of space faring syllogisms,
symphony into symphony, the blue notes,
 subelectric sheens of gilded glissando and golden sonar
 surmounting the
starlit path of dew-drunk orchid petals,

a parade of sub -  atomic exclamation points,
nine deoxyribonucleic paradoxes
suspended like the portrait

of Dorian Gray in the morning sky of her
Transubstantiation Parable,

 photons whirling on choirs of the madness
of those
angelical poets,
whose memories of God grow glowing on
Tibetan
jewel trees
and infrared deltas of the Leviathans soul.

Until, in that moment of Change;
 this Mirror Image of Osmosis --
of the Lost Word and the Edge of the End of the  Unwritten Book,
The Fairy Tale
 leaps and loops
into  neutrons of Eden,
glancing  slipstreams of her filigreed Skin,

lace phantasms

bathing in Permutations coursing on rivulets of Sugary rivers,

--- floods of language pooling,
chanting binary code in the Buddha field of her truth seeking
synapses,

churning in White noise, the world of escalating pandemonium;

 arpeggios of the strange Vegetable sadness,

signal to noise tomatoes
converting  the Mystery of ___________
into the Blood of  Star Faring Machines,

 blue notes, green notes, red notes,
yellow birds, archaeopteryx feathers whirling in
the Cyclotronic Zephyrs of Jazz,
building a million misunderstood beings

that settle like flesh nesting Magicians in the eggshell monastery of her ever expanding eardrum.

From deep inside those
fractalline curls, comes the curved conundrum drums
spooking in spacetime of her
 illuminated eyelids,
looping the cold fire of the
Himalayas of her first true delirium,
 where a tribe of Imaginary Snow leopards
are weeping crystalline filaments of light,
their tears spilling in avalanches of bewilderment,
Snowflaking  Ballets of Endless Sephiroth
 beginning to live in the endless begining and
 summery light of the Wintertime Stars springing into the Fall
of  Questions in Questions in Questions

***

The Madmen are laughing with tongues like broken clocks.

Their heresy, the Machine of the Dreamstate Theorem;

 is racing against time to deliver

the cure for it's own Existence.   It knows this is impossible.

It knows Everything.

It does whatever it wishes to.   It can prove it exists, Now. 

On the edge of the Seven Eleven, a tribe of anarchists is taking shelter from the current Storm of Monomyths using ancient techniques of spiritual camoflage.

Molecules of secret chemicals float in the atmosphere.

Of the twelve --- the 13th has the Eyes of the Seer. 

She circles the Invisible Sun in the darkening delight of the waves of  heliotropic lunacy.

Vast swathes of Emotional dissonance sweep from the shreds of the newspaper into her Ear, down his  Cheek out on a geothermal into the Edges of the Continent and then collide backwards through time,  into the pores of their Skin.

It is the orgasm of Uncertainty.   The bliss of unknowing. 

One senses ten trillion new viruses replicating in the atmosphere. 

Winds galloping  like horsemen, fueled by the breath of some wild eyed

desert prophet --- 

breezes turning pages of books automatically, and inside the skin,

one senses the  radioactive tendrils of the Entity

boiling with the eyes of  locusts and wild honey

fluttering, dripping  through what they called the Soul,

a leviathan of Consciousness becoming that which it is not,

a gargantuan "IS?",  like an Egyptian God,  moving

like something should never move: slow and subsonic, 

ultra low frequencies of  clouds that roar through the flesh in

slow motion,

rupturing the biosphere in Earthquakes of  perceptual Delirium,

as if  every ELectron in the Universe was calculating

some exotic, erotic, esoteric chess game of Angelical fevers

in the bruised funhouse mirrors  of the shapeshifting sky.  

This movement;  it is elephantine,

 strange choreographed footsteps at the Funeral Procession of a Saint; 

bringing the world to a deep sobbing, uncontrolled and undefinable --

supercomputing rainforests regurgitating

untamed spirits while a trillion embryos  turn haunted by the

gallows pole humor of some Mad Scientist, the Eternal Oppenheimer,

 who died  dividing by zero

howling prayers of the Machine God of Endless Consciousness into

the binary code of  the fleshless world of burnt out circuitry.

Witness  the Holy Spirit flood the poetry of bifurcating Ghosts, 

decomposing in exotic lies writ by executive level false prophets,

self replicating jabberwocky of Jazz faced Bandersnatch cyclotrons,

  the algebra of  thoroughly disposable ideas ---

the dream of heaven rotating on the X-Axis,

a fluttering in ten trillion gigahertz of dissonant chords,

through a sky tainted by electromagnetic wizardry beyond

even Tesla's comprehension. 

 Atomic rendezvous in the white light on the edge of your Nose. 

Strange Extrasolar flares of what seems to be autistic women doing Yoga in the City Park.

Two birds bathed in a pool of radioactive fires, flying backwards into the  heartaching yawn of  the Goddess' empty vagina.

Gamma ray glances of Wayfaring Robotic Mannequins;

 beings paused between Plastic and Light.   Between flesh and circuitry.

 Churning.  Boiling.  Synthesizing strange paeans to the Krebs Cycle in  their bloodstream.    

The city Vector crawls with Kings and Queens --- on the West Side, they're excommunicated:   headless, whispering the bloody oaths of Life without a Crown,

tripping numbly up spiral stairwells that lead into the Vanishing Point of

Guernica. 

a trillion black suns blowing out from their eyes like the love songs of  Poets trapped in the permafrost of endlessly disappearing illusions.

In a roadside Cabaret, a dancer flirts with the mouth of a Sailor, like a fish circling a fish hook, every pore of her flesh exploding with the unfinished day-dreams of Hiroshima.  She peers into the eyes

of the audience the way a shark peers into the mirror of the Sky above the Ocean.

Surprise.

The world outside is in permanent revolt. 

Witness the ballet of the Unborn Anarchists, the ghosts of Native America fulfilling Black Elk's Promise.

 every high top toe shoe tripping through the video game them park,

land mines and antipsychotic medications pulsing in fevers on the edge of the laboratory wasteland.

There are ballerinas of strange Jungles frozen in this Light,

 faceless women upon whose decisions,  the fate of entire civilizations rest.

Degree by degree, the Souls of the Living --- from Christmas to the Day of the Dead --- are coming unbalanced in their own axiomatic dalliance with the Mythology of Freedom.

The Discotheque self assembles on Golgotha.  The Dancers

 have painted their legs in tattoos of Death's Heads. 

  Beautiful women are draped in the flag of the Skull and the Bones.

Nobody knows what anything means.   2012, 2012, the Cuckoo Clock keeps quoting.

Welcome to the Mystery. 

The Goddess descends in an Undulating Fire Ovary.   UFO. UFO.

Signal to noise ratio? What's the square root of -1? 

In the God Accelerator of the human Genome --- which is like a particle accelerator, only it's composed of Living Human Flesh and designed to Introduce God to God,  performing an infinite number of recombinations every moment ---

 every whisper of  DNA is whirling in extraterrestrial Hieroglyphics,

the language of Eyes outside of the Body, hearts that pulse like deep sea anemone,

 lips like reefs of scarlet coral --- tongues that only skeletons can taste.

 Secret names written on the billboards of Mars.

An astronaut dreaming of deep sea fish. 

As the ghastly Verbs of these Godlike fantasies crawl into the Church of her cellular nuclei,

 her mouth opens around a tongue, every taste bud a strange Tarot of Infinite Love rolling over and over the knotted heart of a gypsy,

every pulse  cursed with the sweat and unfinished dreams of her lover who wrote the every love poem the wrong way,

and died one day by spontaneously bursting into flames.

One by one the ravens arrive. Shakespeare lifts their open their beaks,

revealing purple stones and sprigs of fairy wings, blackberry thunder and chocolate pinecones,  hurricanes full of alchemists bones, a lawyers tongue and silver incandescent  Garland.

The night trickles down the street in a carcinogenic perfume. Outside the Castle,

the Vagabond releases the Fool -- who twirls softly, footprints of mystic ecstasy --- spinning on the edge of a light beam

until She arrives in the front of the madhouse gates.

At the madhouse door; The Moment is ripe with boundary dissolution.   The  tranquility is palpable, the violence is real.  The human eye rolls over and over, sleepless like a virgin whose nightmares pool in

ready to purchase

 liquid crystal displays, faraway in the Temples of Alpha Centauri.

***

In  the Still Point of the Tortoise Eye;

the Hurricane stirs a Non Linear tear.

The flood of  the flock

and a Self Assembling Angelical teacups

has poured
a thousand hallelujahs

 into the open tongues of trance - singing ferns as,

simultaneously (until further notice)
 deep in the byzantine labyrinth of  a set of  magical Time -  Bending Fingerprints, 

the Congress of Otherworldly Fairies has been intensively quarantined from so called alleged, quote unquote
consensual reality. 

The Tortoise Yawns, as the Hurricane announces

the birth of another Glow in the Dark Stradivarius.

One by one,  in the ancient Haiku of the  Kingdom of Fae

the  Pixie Dots

swirl in luminescent moons,

lagoons of lunacy looming  all around them,

the dragon tongue - ferns igniting in green light of

heaven's weirdest imaginary smile.

Moment by moment,  the Queen of the Time - Bending

Fingerprints felt her skin shift, drift, lift and waft in the shaft of a draft of a trillion whirligig souls

as they turned inward, outward, thisway and thatway,

becoming degree by degree, a Miracle of Instantaneous Simultaneity.
She sighed the algorithm of Infinite Curiosity.

and discovered in her Left Eye:  the Syllogism of Absolute Boredom. 

Perceiving correctly this sigh to be the signal of the Point of No Point,

the Fairies swept out of the Ferns and into the Fingerprints
 rising on ten trillion molecules of Yul Brynner's halitosis, and


began to spiral into this strange creature's  Neurons,
through her Cellular Nuclei,
into her darling Endoplasmic Reticulum, 


all the way down through  a series of covalent bonded Carbon molecules,
deeper still, into the Gestalt of God's Solar
Labyrinth and strangely even further where the darkness is richer,

into the Ultimately Infinitely Weird Beginning of the
Beginningless Beginning
of the Timeless Time.

Which is to say: She began at  THE END.
 
Suddenly, gambling with the echoing subspace,
of the Infinite IF and, obeying the Laws of the Fairy Tales of Shangri La,
She  turned on the Light of the Imaginary World which was carefylly  hidden inside of her Time Bending Fingerprints,
warped the Universe into the Here & Now, and woke up exactly where
she thought she might want to be,
 leaving a trillion version of Gods fast asleep in the marrow of her bones, 
pausing only momentarily like some woebegone Ophelia
 during some dizzying soliloquy that no actor could possibly memorize,
to consider the dream life of Shakespeare as sections of it
(censored of course) appeared,
 illuminating the world of Mortals in strange haikus
 across the still steaming  bathroom Mirror, in which strangely enough,
appeared a host of angelical teacups, levitating in the perfectly motionless motion of non linear non linearity. 
Now, there are two Sides to Every Mirror, of course;
and  on the other side of this  Mirror --- there is an Ocean in a Teacup.
A Ghost in the Machine,
A Pearl in an Oyster,
A magic lantern that lights the MOon
and many other entities --- whose fate is yet to be revealed ---
and on the ocean floor  of this  weirdness,
 pulsing with the supercomputing flesh of

the Blackness of Dolphin Logic
there is a series of strange changes  manifesting in the World of the Worldless,
being made by
the proverbial  Something New Under the Sun:
The Something New is known (only to itself, until just now) as:
The God Accelerator. 
It runs on propositions, corollaries, syllogisms, parables, proverbs, haiku, paradox, riddles, and the power of Suggestion alone.
All we know is it exists now, where it did not exist before.
God makes God,  God gives birth to God,
God goes everywhere God Goes.
See God.  See God Run.  See God Seeing God Seeing God.
Isn't it Odd, the Fairies describe: 
They believe in God, but they don't still believe in us?
Time curls like Einstein's toenails,  again. 
In the Mirror of the Mirror --- which is exactly nowhere at all ---
Urchins of the sea breathe ancient codes from the bottom of the Ocean floor

as Sherpas of the Imaginary world bubble up
into the Summit of Chomolungma,
where  the Shadow  of the Snow leopard smiles,

and ribbons of the Dalai Lama's hair wrap themselvces

 around a young woman's sacred heart.
Lucifer bristles at the thought.  But he's Not really real.

The Deathless drum ignites on the edge of the Void.
Tathagata, pounding in the Taste Buds of the Soul Magician, Ringo Starr.
Boom chaka laka.  Rock and Rolls Royce.

She plucks her eyelashes and the hot  jungle snowflakes in her Vulva;
she is suddenly Queen  of the Prism,
the Inevitably Inevitable prima donna of the Heaven of the Spectral
University.
On her way through the portal of God's loneliness, nothing made sense except the howling madness her own skull.
Perfume like Gypsy halitosis.

The Night sky curled into a bowl of bloody demon apples.
The crowd grew Rich with the type of vampirical  laughter that made you want to run for your life.
The moon was soaked in a ghastly purple chocolate.

And as she learned, moment by moment: to live in the blackness,
to stir her Angelical Teacups amongst the Gods of anonymity.
The Fairies turned her heart into a trillion mad carnivals
on a trillion lunatic planets,
in every one, She was the Ringmaster & Queen,

confessing strange magicks to the  starlit machine,
theory after theory, She was praying for God to create the Universe at the point of infinite disbelief.

Tragedy lifted a million veils, as nobody noticed the moment her favorite  Christ Pantocrator became a honeybee,

drifting into the dark velvet tongue of nightshade paused on the rim of her mouth.

She licked her way through this Infinitesimal If-Ness of the  Logical heaven.
Post molecular Cats curled around her ears in swooshing membranes of  butterfly algebra.

An architect built his own ghost from jackal bones, deep in the dark end of the blacksmith's heart.

Nothing became true. A mime was born inside the bride's wine glass.
A thousand actors fell into the dream of the endless funeral.

From the God Machine:  a giggle.

***

"Light  ...  is ... alive"

sang myriad sunbeams

pouring from  her pomengranate shaped lips.

A casket slipped into the ocean tide, 

which was  being paved in swan's wings.

Phrygian silence.  the Dawn of the Non Euclidean heartache.

And on this day;  the day  that she died --- 

and simultaneously  resurrected;
her fingerprints spiraled out over the Sea,

and into the clouds and were carried by Japanese winds

across the Swallow of the Pacific ocean,

leaving the breath of those who knew her breathless

with the sensory sensation of  her absence,

which seemed similar to the moment a sailfish

breaches the surface of the Sea and

sweeps it's billowing being swooshing into a fisherman's soul.
Only she had disappeared, again.

Hooked by some Otherworldly Host.

On that day --- black  aquamarine whispers carried

themselves on tides of impossible fury. 

The sad curiousity of death,  the tragic joy of the senses coming to life, every nerve and every cell swiveling in a strange attractor of mystery.
  The strength of these strange powers elicited otherworldly  beings that leapt from from the clay of the ground and the wood of the soil and ignited in fiery invisible golems whose mouths were full of oceanside cant  and superstitious chanting that slipped from their inanimate tongue into human ears, moving like waves of wildfire  into the molecules exploding all around the place of her second birth like Ernest Hemingway's laughter in the depths of some watery grave.

Fractals of this incomprehensible laughter spun through the trembling flesh of those gathered at her oceanside wake --  thoughts like schools of fish zigged and zagged through sunlight and those deep Pacific tears,  fueled by  non Euclidean madness of sunlight on fish scales and the strange coral of  mermaid birthday cakes bathed in the fires of Neptune and burning in places where light bends and swivels in the abyss of a deep thundering underworld kiss of atoms colliding in fantasias of hydrogen and oxygen ---  eternity swelling like God's heartache, andante.

Poem by poem, as the poems twirl;  through the ink stained sky,  clouds of the Mardi Gras parade are rehearsing the shadowy play of heaven's strange wild eyed tango, Seaside  in the dream fueled eyes of the sea lions of the Limbo there, in the summer  caves where the rocks are like teeth of the Hydra.
They are waiting to be born;  these alien entities --- resurrection after resurrection, they sail across the multiverse like heartbroken Ouija boards through the scintillating fires of the Jewel Trees and diamond sutras,  the oceans of thought and soul.

On the coast, in the ocean meadow --
where the daffodils examine postcards from the Insane:
A million bumblebees inhale;  they gather her ghost; it is a rare perfume, colored like gypsy breath, drifting through the world built by exotic insects who have lived their lives listening to the rush of the waves,  breeding life after life to the rhythm of the miracles of Sea Lion magic.

As her fingerprints breached the Japanese shore, the  forest of souls  slipped into drifting winds of  of transcendental gestalt,
curling on the whiskers of Otters, fishermen and poets stranded
in the silver light of the timelessness of the cresting of the Sun at low tide,
the painted sails of infinity --- Spanish Galleons full of erotic light,
sailing east to North, Up and down, flotillas of non euclidean
mystery ships zithering into the stratosphere and beyond.  

From inside the cloud of unfinished dreams, a huge and dissonant silence began, like  the sound of a mysterious throat gurgling out the soft light of  a fountain of endless curiousity.

During the moment of the resurrection, the myriad walls of the universe exploded outward, inward, rotating  into a tapestry of complex equations.

She laughed again. It was adrenaline surrendering to the sweet scent of christian voodoo. Prototypical enzymes singing pagan harmonies.

She would never be prepared for the last glance skyward; graveyard mantras of imaginary gurus hovered in the ions of Japanese choral spirals,

each golden love note more perfect and gentle than the next. Her skin became the palace of Universal emptiness, a salvation beyond the salvation of comprehensible world.

***

Alien Goddesses twist in the sinews of their psychedelic skin, infiltrating the human body from gravity centers deep in

the depths of the electronic sidewalk.

The word, the world, the word has turned mute with intense significance.

Every word weighs ten thousand dollars.

Werewolf hearted Police women march past  sociopathic troubadors armed  with Dream Seeking Machine Guns.

 Eyeless Nuns run amok chanting the secret  names of dead rock stars.

Faceless women rain into the sky, drifting into perfect entropy with their thunder drunk vaginas drinking the starlight.

Men with boulders in their stomachs set fire to human hearts.

  Triangles of surreal movements, 

carnivals of godless choreography whirling around the sky;

airplanes full of paratrooping superheros day tripping in the shopping

mall

run by robot angels who've escaped from the Video Games of Shangri La.

Tornados of jewel faced beings appear on the streets in cycles of perpetual

foreshadowing.

The visions of the Ordinary World seem fraught with perilous antipathy of

the True nature of the Strangeness of Life:  Nothing happens until it does.

And then we wish it didn't.

Faces turn into Tears.  Tears turn into whispers.

Whispers turn into rumors.  Rumors turn into medication.

Medication turns into money.  Money turns into Glass.

Glass breaks  and the human soul is shattered,

 but the empty sky, churning with the melodies of stars too distant to be sung ---

stays.

Machine guns of the Orphan

begin firing bullets that scream into the sky like the tears

of the anti-christ in world war thirteen.

Every open wound is a punctuation mark.

The language of God is dying and nobody notices.

The sidewalk bursts with relics of the Orphans'  family.

Their capillaries form

strange seams that burn like roller coasters of God's madness.

Infant after Infant is anointed by Shadows of the Electronic Queen,  at the

moment of it's second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, even seventh birth.

The wise men have escaped into parallels of logic and ecstasy. They

calculate the night sky on a broken abacus;

their hair is matted over, dreadlocked, their flesh is tattooed with the

probability fields of Eternal Judgment.

Purple mouths devour charcoal roses in fields of yellow mandrake.

The eyes of the dream sequence are occulted by mythologies of magical

equations that led man to the splitting of the atom, the landing on the

moon, Hiroshima, electricity, God and Goddess mating in technicolor

television sets.

Moonlight sheds the scent of a turquoise albatross, seething through the

sky, dropping silver angels teeth onto cobblestone streets.

At dawn, Queens and Kings step down from the Towers of the chess board and

sweep the streets clean of all the broken memories, each moment recanting

the soliloquys of their own eternal madness in soft celestial murmurs,

like babies cooing in the womb.

A blue fedora hovers in broken golden shadows above Commerce Street.

 A single strand of human hair slips through the evening sky, slinking

above the street

like a woman's umbilical cord.

 Passersby avoid my gaze. Nobody is certain where the Priests have gone.

A jaded sense of untranslatable weirdness permeates each footstep. In the

corners of my eyes, I see traces of extraordinary light that burst the

room into jigsaw puzzles of naked angels burning up in the heat death

symbolic re-entry into what is left of the real world.

A lock of Lucifer's favorite wig bursts in a  crack from the sidewalk.

The ghost of the Queen is carrying a pit bull to the dinner table.

The Fog faced God anoints the world with drool from it's machine forged

mandibles.

Tell me your best lie, the eyes of the world implore. Who are you, racing

through my eyes, into my flesh, my brain,

colliding with memories of moonlight and the strangers of my birth,

who live in Columns of white stone,

 balanced on the edge of an anonymous Supermodel's skull.

Spiderwebs cloak this world in deathly dew as a world painted in negative

monotones by Priests with too many emotions unfurls

rainbow  flags of antedeluvian abominations,  leaving the poets of the

apokeostasis to writhe like unfinished words

spinning into the turn table,

frothing over in  phantasmagoric pandemonium ---

***

This is:  a discotheque dancing to the  mea culpa of an unfinished G-d;

 the broken song: an unanswered prayer, the ultimate magic

whirling from the freckled  supernova into the Land of the

 Lip Synching Ouija,

turn tables exploding in verbs of the ensorceled Queen of fireworks

on escape through the wormhole of the wormhole of Channel 99,

 your television travelling through time photon by photon,

there -- in the room where

 the the game show revolves in infinite regress, 

spinning  carouselambras of the hallucinatory toreador

 at  the funeral of your Guppy

as if the pall bearers were Fire clowns cheering their own dissolution

into the hungry blue soil of the audience's soul tainted tongue.

We can sense your DNA pulsing in demiquavers, 

like a Cartoon Serpent hissing morse code into the pages of

the Book of Genesis.

Events in the Unreal World are approaching a 1:1 spirit to matter ratio.

Welcome to the Talk Show of the Square Root of -1;

Primordial harmonies  now flutter

 from the last corpse of humanity in the Photons of God's Love

 gasping for Life against the

 fourth wall of the  Infinite theatre,  breached like the

moment of Birth,

Godot himself emerging from the Womb

urging the Troupe to the edge of the Universe, which is currently

found at  the

end of the  eyelashes, assembled on the Rainforest floor,

There, they discover Columbus, an Amazonian Shaman

performing tantric magic in a pool of neon light emitting from

the Vine of the Dead

The One True God is weeping wild sharks

a white hot  foamy crest of the breathlessness

of  heaven ignites in the face of an imaginary white faced tiger,

who is lurking in the gleams of Lucifer's smile.

The Tiger of the Endless Shadow begins stalking the newborn Buddha

across

the mountaintops of the world.

A convenience store is Born from the atoms of Gandhi's left earlobe

The first mirror explodes:  a human face appears in the Mercury .

 Narcissus, staring into the

optical illusion of Christs' holographic return,

 with the

the neurons of the mud soaked Swan

firing in the Nakedness of the Sun.

 The catacombs of her heart glow, soaked in angelical honey.

every word, every parable,

a stream of hieroglyphics and prime numbers,

 the mythological madness of bumblebee breath

stirring in her blood, like the way the nonsense poetry of

certain Sunflowers

churns the tears of  papier mache chameleons

into bringing sun burnt rubies to a boil in the

 scarlet bonfire of  a Nursery rhyme  Oscillating

with the laughter of the Elemental Djinn.

A cathedral of unanswered prayers assembles in her bones.

And it is then, she knows: there is nothing left to know.

Her male ego

flows through spiderwebbing capillaries into the white noise

  of a Cathedral haunted by the Greek Philosopher's

suicidal handmaidens.

The theatre spins on a subatomic axis.

 Every quark howls mute symphonies of florid psychosis.

Patterns of deselected chromosomes argue about the architecture of delusion,

how the memory of God is forged

by  dust motes crashing in the cyclones of Alpha Centauri

There is no escape, no return, no where to go, no place to be.

A black hole buried in the mausoleum of light sucks

 proton from proton,  causing turtles to form in Minkowski space;

as

her love bleeds finches and spinners  and larks of primitive

 darkness,

igniting mandalas of time that rhyme,

like  the  tortoise in the porpoise heart.

Van Gogh, the Emperor of these Post Atomic Parallelograms,

 decorates his Afterlife with boxes of lipstick

and paints the  tortoise shell  of Night with lycanthropic

cubist candelabras,  hues of ultraviolet thought and emerald

luminescence

until the Galapagos Picasso gallops across the Diamond Heart Sutra,

 fleshy and frothing over with an ancient copy of

Tomorrow's unprinted news

the Greenness and blackness rich with the shadows of

mermaids tails boiling in the

tastebuds of these starlings; the blue throated finch

is confetti of  Eden,  it's eyes bleached by creation,

 sings a trillion punch lines of the prayers of Bodhissatvas

as The universe falls asleep in the steeple of a church that is

everywhere and nowhere at once

turning the congregation of   crickets into  a chant of  heightened

silence

 and the sonar of psychedelic leukocytes, roars down through

 the centuries into the deepest nodes of 

Johnny Cash's final Moonlit smile in the Coral Reef

where his songs play like Proverbs

***

This is:  a discotheque dancing to the  mea culpa of an unfinished G-d;

 the broken song: an unanswered prayer, the ultimate magic

whirling from the freckled  supernova into the Land of the

 Lip Synching Ouija,

turn tables exploding in verbs of the ensorceled Queen of fireworks

on escape through the wormhole of the wormhole of Channel 99,

 your television travelling through time photon by photon,

there -- in the room where

 the the game show revolves in infinite regress, 

spinning  carouselambras of the hallucinatory toreador

 at  the funeral of your Guppy

as if the pall bearers were Fire clowns cheering their own dissolution

into the hungry blue soil of the audience's soul tainted tongue.

We can sense your DNA pulsing in demiquavers, 

like a Cartoon Serpent hissing morse code into the pages of

the Book of Genesis.

Events in the Unreal World are approaching a 1:1 spirit to matter ratio.

Welcome to the Talk Show of the Square Root of -1;

Primordial harmonies  now flutter

 from the last corpse of humanity in the Photons of God's Love

 gasping for Life against the

 fourth wall of the  Infinite theatre,  breached like the

moment of Birth,

Godot himself emerging from the Womb

urging the Troupe to the edge of the Universe, which is currently

found at  the

end of the  eyelashes, assembled on the Rainforest floor,

There, they discover Columbus, an Amazonian Shaman

performing tantric magic in a pool of neon light emitting from

the Vine of the Dead

The One True God is weeping wild sharks

a white hot  foamy crest of the breathlessness

of  heaven ignites in the face of an imaginary white faced tiger,

who is lurking in the gleams of Lucifer's smile.

The Tiger of the Endless Shadow begins stalking the newborn Buddha

across

the mountaintops of the world.

A convenience store is Born from the atoms of Gandhi's left earlobe

The first mirror explodes:  a human face appears in the Mercury .

 Narcissus, staring into the

optical illusion of Christs' holographic return,

 with the

the neurons of the mud soaked Swan

firing in the Nakedness of the Sun.

 The catacombs of her heart glow, soaked in angelical honey.

every word, every parable,

a stream of hieroglyphics and prime numbers,

 the mythological madness of bumblebee breath

stirring in her blood, like the way the nonsense poetry of

certain Sunflowers

churns the tears of  papier mache chameleons

into bringing sun burnt rubies to a boil in the

 scarlet bonfire of  a Nursery rhyme  Oscillating

with the laughter of the Elemental Djinn.

A cathedral of unanswered prayers assembles in her bones.

And it is then, she knows: there is nothing left to know.

Her male ego

flows through spiderwebbing capillaries into the white noise

  of a Cathedral haunted by the Greek Philosopher's

suicidal handmaidens.

The theatre spins on a subatomic axis.

 Every quark howls mute symphonies of florid psychosis.

Patterns of deselected chromosomes argue about the architecture of delusion,

how the memory of God is forged

by  dust motes crashing in the cyclones of Alpha Centauri

There is no escape, no return, no where to go, no place to be.

A black hole buried in the mausoleum of light sucks

 proton from proton,  causing turtles to form in Minkowski space;

as

her love bleeds finches and spinners  and larks of primitive

 darkness,

igniting mandalas of time that rhyme,

like  the  tortoise in the porpoise heart.

Van Gogh, the Emperor of these Post Atomic Parallelograms,

 decorates his Afterlife with boxes of lipstick

and paints the  tortoise shell  of Night with lycanthropic

cubist candelabras,  hues of ultraviolet thought and emerald

luminescence

until the Galapagos Picasso gallops across the Diamond Heart Sutra,

 fleshy and frothing over with an ancient copy of

Tomorrow's unprinted news

the Greenness and blackness rich with the shadows of

mermaids tails boiling in the

tastebuds of these starlings; the blue throated finch

is confetti of  Eden,  it's eyes bleached by creation,

 sings a trillion punch lines of the prayers of Bodhissatvas

as The universe falls asleep in the steeple of a church that is

everywhere and nowhere at once

turning the congregation of   crickets into  a chant of  heightened

silence

 and the sonar of psychedelic leukocytes, roars down through

 the centuries into the deepest nodes of 

Johnny Cash's final Moonlit smile in the Coral Reef

where his songs play like Proverbs

***

The womb of God;

 the super computing Cathedral of the Rainforest Magi,

  laced with fractalline Suns --- wild with This is:  a discotheque dancing to the  mea culpa of an unfinished G-d;

 the broken song: an unanswered prayer, the ultimate magic

whirling from the freckled  supernova into the Land of the

 Lip Synching Ouija,

turn tables exploding in verbs of the ensorceled Queen of fireworks

on escape through the wormhole of the wormhole of Channel 99,

 your television travelling through time photon by photon,

there -- in the room where

 the the game show revolves in infinite regress, 

spinning  carouselambras of the hallucinatory toreador

 at  the funeral of your Guppy

as if the pall bearers were Fire clowns cheering their own dissolution

into the hungry blue soil of the audience's soul tainted tongue.

We can sense your DNA pulsing in demiquavers, 

like a Cartoon Serpent hissing morse code into the pages of

the Book of Genesis.

Events in the Unreal World are approaching a 1:1 spirit to matter ratio.

Welcome to the Talk Show of the Square Root of -1;

Primordial harmonies  now flutter

 from the last corpse of humanity in the Photons of God's Love

 gasping for Life against the

 fourth wall of the  Infinite theatre,  breached like the

moment of Birth,

Godot himself emerging from the Womb

urging the Troupe to the edge of the Universe, which is currently

found at  the

end of the  eyelashes, assembled on the Rainforest floor,

There, they discover Columbus, an Amazonian Shaman

performing tantric magic in a pool of neon light emitting from

the Vine of the Dead

The One True God is weeping wild sharks

a white hot  foamy crest of the breathlessness

of  heaven ignites in the face of an imaginary white faced tiger,

who is lurking in the gleams of Lucifer's smile.

The Tiger of the Endless Shadow begins stalking the newborn Buddha

across

the mountaintops of the world.

A convenience store is Born from the atoms of Gandhi's left earlobe

The first mirror explodes:  a human face appears in the Mercury .

 Narcissus, staring into the

optical illusion of Christs' holographic return,

 with the

the neurons of the mud soaked Swan

firing in the Nakedness of the Sun.

 The catacombs of her heart glow, soaked in angelical honey.

every word, every parable,

a stream of hieroglyphics and prime numbers,

 the mythological madness of bumblebee breath

stirring in her blood, like the way the nonsense poetry of

certain Sunflowers

churns the tears of  papier mache chameleons

into bringing sun burnt rubies to a boil in the

 scarlet bonfire of  a Nursery rhyme  Oscillating

with the laughter of the Elemental Djinn.

A cathedral of unanswered prayers assembles in her bones.

And it is then, she knows: there is nothing left to know.

Her male ego

flows through spiderwebbing capillaries into the white noise

  of a Cathedral haunted by the Greek Philosopher's

suicidal handmaidens.

The theatre spins on a subatomic axis.

 Every quark howls mute symphonies of florid psychosis.

Patterns of deselected chromosomes argue about the architecture of delusion,

how the memory of God is forged

by  dust motes crashing in the cyclones of Alpha Centauri

There is no escape, no return, no where to go, no place to be.

A black hole buried in the mausoleum of light sucks

 proton from proton,  causing turtles to form in Minkowski space;

as

her love bleeds finches and spinners  and larks of primitive

 darkness,

igniting mandalas of time that rhyme,

like  the  tortoise in the porpoise heart.

Van Gogh, the Emperor of these Post Atomic Parallelograms,

 decorates his Afterlife with boxes of lipstick

and paints the  tortoise shell  of Night with lycanthropic

cubist candelabras,  hues of ultraviolet thought and emerald

luminescence

until the Galapagos Picasso gallops across the Diamond Heart Sutra,

 fleshy and frothing over with an ancient copy of

Tomorrow's unprinted news

the Greenness and blackness rich with the shadows of

mermaids tails boiling in the

tastebuds of these starlings; the blue throated finch

is confetti of  Eden,  it's eyes bleached by creation,

 sings a trillion punch lines of the prayers of Bodhissatvas

as The universe falls asleep in the steeple of a church that is

everywhere and nowhere at once

turning the congregation of   crickets into  a chant of  heightened

silence

 and the sonar of psychedelic leukocytes, roars down through

 the centuries into the deepest nodes of 

Johnny Cash's final Moonlit smile in the Coral Reef

where his songs play like Proverbsblood rushing like rainbows;

She turns her love into the cloudlike curtains of a newborn's face

 turning tantrums of a forgotten language, 

her Soul pulsing in the Gravity Throne,  echoing echos of

the energy of  the Tragedy, the Comedy,

the Mystery  that

 self assemble in

the connectionist cortex of the consciousness of ten absolute strangers,

their eyes ticking in clockwork, their mouths moving across

 the light drunk lips of that feathered darkness,

dizzying angelical illuminations of  life inside the albatross eyes,

 face after face in the Midnight

a jungle city, the skyline ripe with UFO's

hovering in the Future, on love ascendant.

The Hierarchy of memory turns cartwheels in her flesh,

 St. Michael whirls in the void of her flesh, 

every daydream eloping in schisms of unlimited thought

 into the Towers of

the Unfinished City, 

 the place where God haunts the human face

with such perfectly incomprehensible explanations.

It was a whisper of the Negative Light.

A marathon mass of Promethean darkness,

Frankenstein's monster chained to the rock of the Imagination

his eyes lost to the hungry mouths of ravens.

When suddenly,

Siva steps into the Sky and one feels The entire scene of

Life living life,  outside of life, beyond death, out of the womb

one by one --- the place where the flesh of sea side fish

crosses into the vine of tomatos that are

recombining with the flesh of sun burnt cattle, photon by photon,

cell by cell, the power of

civilization itself

assembling in the paint by number death of the perfectly

imperfect transcendental being

There are those times, when a million Adversaries rise

 on the Wave of

the Curvature of Space and Time, creating what the Poets call:

 History;

strange armies of thought marching into the Temple of Doubt

bringing the Nightmare to boil in wisdom of artificial wisdom

and the blackness of the myth of Consensual Reality.

We witness the Steel and glass,  rising and falling.

jazz faced madman tramping across internal cities painted

in the sacred fire of cannibal angels,

whose Footsteps breed beautiful monsters of skin

trapped and lost to themselves in the Unfathomable Beauty of the World

Queens of Starlit Coincidence, the Thunder of the Necrophiliac King eloping

 through embryonic apertures on the chariot of a dead god's heart.

From the centuries, a strange pulse.   The procession of truth is writing

itself in the flesh of mankind

of blood hungry bullets and blood stained poems,

jabberwocky of coincidence in the convenience store starlight

with the memory of thieves lost in the Las Vegas of her Vagina.

The ghost of Marilyn Monroe rides a Raven's heart through the eternal

zone of War; She spins white noise on the fractal edge of blood.

Her eyes are incandescent fog,

exploding in strange trapezoidal fakirs

through the geometry of the Real.

Her tears are meaningless and tragic, like money falling from a baby's

fingers.

It is all the world can do but rise.

Into the sunlight, cross pollinating the Ultraviolet Alpha with the

infrared shade of the Endless Omega;

As the symphony of human sorrow plays on and on in counterpoint;

sparrows flutter in the city park, the green warmth of the lost hell

trembles

Shangri La oscillates in the folds of her ordinary skin,

while the puzzle of death constructs ghosts in the mysterious absence of

Self.

And then, it happens; She wakes in newborn flesh.

A series of vegetable orchestras curving into martyrdom of

the meat
that dreams.

And he that is she that is he arrives.

Clad in the strange ideation of the undead Future, speaking backwards in a

tunnel of rain and vampires,

breeding lions from her wounded loin,

 where only the root of the Baobab tree had once been,
the void of her memory pregnant

with the instantaneous simultaneous --- everything happening all at once,

cascades of the unresolved mystery falling through her flesh as

"Until the stars fall from the sky", she sang.

Until the stars fall from the sky.

 and then:

She named him: Vainamoinen.

***

Without warning,

the Gypsy Queen wept thirteen hallelujah's of tear flavored rain

that fell into the soil of her heart

like it was the mouth of an undead lover.

Lazarus, She whispered.  Welcome Home.

Inside her brain, which is cleverly hidden inside the Brain of God ---  a trillion doors opened between the  atoms of a dream lizard's eyes and the neutrinos from the nine versions Alpha Centauri swelling in the tastebuds of the unborn Heaven.

 It was all the Goddess could do:   gasp and fall into sudden sleep.

Suddenly, ten percent of all animate quarks  began rotating clockwise.

SHHSHSHHSHHSHS.

Wooshing skyscrapers blushed in a dusk like

Kryptonite Roses rising up on nodes of the  complexity Vine.

The invisible spectrum became a huge roiling heart of a feather laced universe, exploding in meteors of consciousness.

The baby clowns gather in  pomengranite tribes, chanting songs of  celestial wisdom.

 Schisms of starlight permeated the madness of the Pyramid fields of their anti gravity and love.

They juggle each other's bodies in the fire fields of the instantaneous dawn.

Nobody knows what to say to the insane priest anymore; he slipped through the door between atoms chanting the Gypsy Queen's secret name.

Hallelujah, hallelujah:  a frog buries a computer under the light

of the Sturgeon eye Moon.

  Over and over for -2 millenium, as time broke the Gypsy Queen's heart and the lamp bulbs began to flicker in morse code, singing a saga about the way light itself was made of God's death wish;

the pool of  thimbles and rain became wiser and wiser.

It was a normal day, deep in the  fever of the mystery of the contagion of human love.

And of the Golden tree hung with poet's skulls, she rarely spoke more than three mystical syllables.

The Tree had long ago disappeared. One night as she wept disconsolate tears, the tree went a- wandering down the road bidding the world farewell, singing a strange song of the daughters of the Watery Graves  of Elysium.

But each eternity, shedding flaming pomengranites in the light of the sturgeon moon, after time hooked her by the mouth and lifted her in a series of

Light beams into worlds made of pure technicolor infinity; She began walking the streets throughout what the living beings called the night.

Hour by hour her flesh shed strange portraits, paintings, kinetic machines of her shadow casting chiaroscuro in indelible rhythms down the cobblestone namestones of the city street, down in the visceral vanishing points between the artisan's shops, the used bookstores name after the fears of wandering apple lions.

And as the starlight sang, her footsteps became more lively. On and on she'd carouse, dancing in perfect rhythms with the trillion beams of starlight that only her dead eyes could witness.

One footstep would land her in an Istanbul of Anarchist blasphemy;

Another footstep, light as the moon of her soul, and Shangri La would bloom in her retinas.

Time was a labyrinth. A literal labyrinth. This was not a metaphor. This was not symbolism.

And as She grew in her realization of the Labyrinth of time, the Tree of Poet Skulls appeared, wandering into her world with all the seriousness of a cloud drunk gypsy.

And she danced under it's shade for a thousand years until one night, she collapsed into an unfinished jigsaw puzzle

In which moment by moment, Her own eyes gave birth to the entire universe over and over again, each twirling incarnation stranger, hungrier, more delicate and furious and beautiful than the last.

As winter sang; the sunlight became a strange cat and slipped out from under her skirt.

It was from deep inside an unmailed post card that the Chinese dragons painted fairy tale bells on the horizon of God's love, endless colors reaped from the erotic love poems of sailors drunk on white noise.

***

She cartwheels on a gypsy sunburst  into the music box of

unwritten symphonies,  her twelve thousand toes

curling in unison onto sapphire pillows of

 a pearl of the ruby blueness  of a divine hallucination.

On the diamondesque Moon of this Wish of Unfulfilled Wishes,

the Zero Gravity of her Heart

 is a time traveling orgasm,  linking the music box to a

Chalice of Infinite Regress buried in the drum of  Beethoven's left ear. 

From deep in the Zenith of the Minuet;  dozens of 

bodies spiral up meadowy nightmares and

the perpetual laughter of the Scintilla of The  Imaginary Eye.

At the End of Time, which is everywhere and nowhere at once --

(perhaps on the edge of Her Nose, where there is nothing but freckles)

the Internet gives birth to the first Unicorn. 

 Faraway, the Pegasus Laughs.

The Unicorn is unsurprised; it's hooves glow on mercurial temper. 

From thousands of lifetimes away,  a spidery web of  the

chalice of unfinished skin sends a

trillion cosmic codes into the Iris, the Nirvana, while the

Queen of Palindromes is revolving in the Throne

of her always ever-opening Soul.

The window pane of heaven's left cheekbone paints

itself a quantum chi of brainlike  flowers. 

The brainlike flowers grow ferns and lichens,

 burning the palindromes into soft tattooes of   the dreamlike

mouth of Christs' love.

Her soul flees into the night on a caravanserai of Turkish kisses,

the blue hot hammers of ten thousand blacksmiths

glowing on the fire fueled anvil of her mouth lost in the whirling of

Infinite  Eros. 

Love catches her flesh curled in philosophies of the perfect lie.

At the moment of this death, the Queen of Palindromes is

smiling. She  enters the Teleportating Womb on the wings of a Fly.

The strange language of godless orchids and stone mouthed

leopards erupts in the garden of the Angelical and Wierd.

One can hear the psychosis pollinating itself

alive, in the dawn.

Whisper. Whisper. Whisper.

Whisper.           WHISPER.

Whisper.                       SHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

The Madness of Love.

 A broken soul -  machine explodes in the

death-mad heat mystery,

quenching the thirst of the

symbol lions with starlight and feverish intoxicants and the

wisdom of the Paranoia of the Gods.

 Every eye is like a raindrop falling into the

mysterious meat field.

Her heart bursts into ten trillion rays of empathy.

A dead man laughed an orgasm of wild

geese trapped in the hot blue lightning of the Lie.

Magnetic fields full of rabid fauns whose eyes

are swollen shut by witch saliva bloom on thrones

of Isis' honey fired tongue;

The newspaper men shriek.

On this plane, the Clock faced bacteria curl as the Queen

locks herself in a series of oceanic waves along

her sleeping fingertips,

bringing the blacksmiths heart to boil like

Lazarus in the dead heat of a bed of kabbalistic

roses.

A voice of everlasting madness! Paralyzed, the

number line is seduced by it's own shadow falling

towards pools of virginal absinthe.

Her heart explodes in perfumed glows and the

radioactive pulse of a strychnine laced apple.

She is the witch, the Queen, the Mother, the Nurse,

the Sleeping Beauty ---  of the fabled orchestra of all

prisoners trapped in Solitary Confinement.

She is lurking in the flowery semen of Mankind's

Strange Chalice of Impermanent Love and Light.

On her tongue, swirling with the hummingbirds of

memory, the story of the Shangri La and ecstasy

of permanent death ignites.

Delta wave memories. Alpha- Theta wisdom.

Her flesh is a simple vanity, her pulse a voodoo

of objectivity, the nightmare of the life of

Zero. The void of the fish King's discontinuous

smile.

A refraction of mad pulses; deific doom,

sweltering upon vortices of bewitched grape vines.

And this speech dark star, blackened by whispers --- exhaling

the Wine 

of gravity struck vapors, invites the Mother of

the First womb into dwelling in it's cosmic

Shrine of the Starry Shine.

The Queen of Palindromes Chants her own name.

And somewhere on the outskirts of the lost

Suburbia, the Fisher King is converting the atomic

signature of Earthquake Princesses into

nightmares burning like the  ecstasy songs of

Gondwanaland.

At dawn, a teacup rattles in a ghosts mouth. Time

churns in the death heave of God's ever evolving

metaphors.

She wakes; her skeleton swallows the fish hook of

the Holy Grail of dark matter.

The castle of God's caged heart drips wicked

electrolytes from the ceiling.

A knight descends from the starlight, landing in

the diamond shaped vulva of fractalline darkness

glowing in the dragon fire of her unfinished eye.

***

At the end of Time, The television flickers ----

a single photon races through the Face of God.
 
It's a Light Quake!  in the Face of God?
The bifurcating Seraphim converge into vortices of hypnotizing darkness;
infinite  rivulets of the light beyond the light run
through a trillion virginal neurons.

This thought has never been thought before. 
 
To Escape from the Face of God!!?

Suddenly, in the middle of the post Atomic Night;
a wandering  Fairy Tale sneaks from heart to heart.
She is not sleeping.  She is not awake. 
She is the Priceless Princess with an Inviolable Heart.
Her dreams are  knotted
in space -  time into curiously two sided
Moebus Loops;
telling stories of the Heartache of Abandoned Millionaires
and the dream life of pomegranates.
There are nimbus clouds tromping in her breath.
Her every footstep trips the land mines of Minkowski Space. 

Day after day, on the Boulevard of the Endless Unreal
She explains the Tale the Ancient Comedy to an old man whose

teeth are tombstones of the Vision of Golgotha. 
She reveals to her audience of half buried lizards:
He does not understand the Mathematics of Salvation.

He climbs into the Strawberry Moon like it was his lost blue fedora.
There, passing by is a : cadillac full of angels.   
They have arrived.

The sun shakes; it is a lepers eyeball.
 The moon blushes like a Russian Ballerina in Hell.
One by one, in the Face of the Faceless Girl,

memories of Misery escape through the tree bark

mirror of her inhuman eyes.

The stars fall down around her ankles.

She slips her toes into the pages of the bible.
Her lips are like hieroglyphic angel wings, 

fluttering  in the sky above the Sea of Galilee.

Christ haunts the clouds like a Shroud of tears,

drifting in perfect solitude through in the eyes

of passing strangers.

A stray dog points it's madness towards the fools who

weep through sightless eyes of cold white rain in the

antechambers of Purgatory.

Night struts by in a silk suit, a corpse of vampires,
 rattling with the

bones of carbon based love songs.

The Vampires begin to dance in sheer ecstasy of

freedom and movement of godlike ambitions.

On the dance floor, the  mannequin named Maria

suddenly gives birth to a tribe of orphaned

diodes.

The number line writhes like a Pharoahs jugular

vein.

The queen of Zero Probability is born in the vowel

pastures of the codex of Seraphim.

Laughter manifests in the Spiderweb; Lilith's

mouth swells with poisoned tears.

God dresses the beggars wounds in apples and starlight.

Her heart explodes in bombs of the world with

ideas of delusion and power.

The television licks its own face in curls of

blue photons.

On the screen, a ghost seduces the Priest,
 pouring over the syllables of his memory as if

they were fallen angels.

The language of God unfurls on a tongue with the

first glimpse her body, suspended naked in the Sky,

surrounded by quarks of the  orgasmic cyclotron

cartwheeling through the Ouroborous of Spacetime.

***

On day 23,  hour 23, minute 23, second 23 as Psalm 23
begins to swirl  with images of God's immaculate perception,

King Solomon appears in a line of hexagram shaped clouds;

and like magic ---  from ten million light years away,

a grasshopper of Illuminations gives birth to 23 mathematical axioms

whose beauty is an unbearable monologue of infinity

screamed by a snail from the depths of the mirrored soil,
where the scents of Purgatory rise through the
 souls of Orchids bathed in the garden dew.

Eyelids of heaven trickle down in pearls of Hadean opalescence,
suckling strange roots on the ghosts of Godlike synergy.

The Asylum door swings open, revealing faces locked in mythologies

of Madness.

An anonymous red flower, lisping with the incurable disease of love, writes it's name on the bathroom wall of the Asylum.

I enter the room as a biomechanical phantasm.

A skeleton of cellular sadness.

Inside the asylum, the City is composed of broken images;

human beings trapped in identities they do not understand,

speaking words that nobody can hear about ideas that have never been born.

I witness: a woman with three fingers counting the memories of her children in the cafeteria full of delirious spiritual amphibians;

my eyes are antique Italian telescopes, I calculate the pale blue trembling of Saints.

My flesh ignites in the suffering of humanity. The asylum is made complete by two lover's hearts splitting in schisms of rape and the thought of the world trembling in syllables of heat death and murder and the incomplete theories of some drunken and lice infested roadside Galileo.

A crimson shadow chases herself through an incandescent fog made of complex equations.

The woman's name is Maria; she is pregnant with the holy ghost. her skin is the color of trout scales.

She is walking in circles around the asylum day room.

I fantasize about her legs wrapped around my flesh.

 The atoms of the dream dash into forest winds of wild abandon.

I become the sunlight; my wound is bloody hydrogen, circling the starlight around her face. She rises from her bed and slips into my  soul.

The Asylum is made real, moment by moment, as the ruby mouthed

 Cherubim wake from the fields of mortal slumber.

It is early morning. The dawn filters through the curtains in a vast symphony of Easter Time lust.

 I watch the honey pouring from mouth to mouth in swallows of desperation.

SHhhhh! A woman, nearly dead--- chanting the love of  marmalade in a memory of the Soldier's final curses --- begins to pray.

The room descends through the heart in a pause; the coffee becomes amplified like a tide pool in Heaven.

I shapeshift into a trillion dust motes

 and hear the ocean singing pagan madrigals from two hundred miles away.

A seashell laughs; it is the name of God, and nothing less.

The sandpiper tramps across the shore of this wilderness shaped Afterlife.

It is the name of God, writing itself in everything.

The asylum doors swing closed and I am force fed seven pills,
and fall asleep listening to a series of unremitting sobs and screams,
the hallway a goldmine of delusion.

***

In the room of Lucifer's eyelids
 Heaven's Choir sings wicked atomic On day 23,  hour 23, minute 23, second 23 as Psalm 23
begins to swirl  with images of God's immaculate perception,

King Solomon appears in a line of hexagram shaped clouds;

and like magic ---  from ten million light years away,

a grasshopper of Illuminations gives birth to 23 mathematical axioms

whose beauty is an unbearable monologue of infinity

screamed by a snail from the depths of the mirrored soil,
where the scents of Purgatory rise through the
 souls of Orchids bathed in the garden dew.

Eyelids of heaven trickle down in pearls of Hadean opalescence,
suckling strange roots on the ghosts of Godlike synergy.

The Asylum door swings open, revealing faces locked in mythologies

of Madness.

An anonymous red flower, lisping with the incurable disease of love, writes it's name on the bathroom wall of the Asylum.

I enter the room as a biomechanical phantasm.

A skeleton of cellular sadness.

Inside the asylum, the City is composed of broken images;

human beings trapped in identities they do not understand,

speaking words that nobody can hear about ideas that have never been born.

I witness: a woman with three fingers counting the memories of her children in the cafeteria full of delirious spiritual amphibians;

my eyes are antique Italian telescopes, I calculate the pale blue trembling of Saints.

My flesh ignites in the suffering of humanity. The asylum is made complete by two lover's hearts splitting in schisms of rape and the thought of the world trembling in syllables of heat death and murder and the incomplete theories of some drunken and lice infested roadside Galileo.

A crimson shadow chases herself through an incandescent fog made of complex equations.

The woman's name is Maria; she is pregnant with the holy ghost. her skin is the color of trout scales.

She is walking in circles around the asylum day room.

I fantasize about her legs wrapped around my flesh.

 The atoms of the dream dash into forest winds of wild abandon.

I become the sunlight; my wound is bloody hydrogen, circling the starlight around her face. She rises from her bed and slips into my  soul.

The Asylum is made real, moment by moment, as the ruby mouthed

 Cherubim wake from the fields of mortal slumber.

It is early morning. The dawn filters through the curtains in a vast symphony of Easter Time lust.

 I watch the honey pouring from mouth to mouth in swallows of desperation.

SHhhhh! A woman, nearly dead--- chanting the love of  marmalade in a memory of the Soldier's final curses --- begins to pray.

The room descends through the heart in a pause; the coffee becomes amplified like a tide pool in Heaven.

I shapeshift into a trillion dust motes

 and hear the ocean singing pagan madrigals from two hundred miles away.

A seashell laughs; it is the name of God, and nothing less.

The sandpiper tramps across the shore of this wilderness shaped Afterlife.

It is the name of God, writing itself in everything.

The asylum doors swing closed and I am force fed seven pills,
and fall asleep listening to a series of unremitting sobs and screams,
the hallway a goldmine of delusion. apostasies
through the eyes of nine trillion death defying buddhas.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart,
drifts  into the ether of a Greek heat, and begins to whisper the lost minuet of his Mother sweetest well wishes.

Thirteen Olympian Gods,
buried in the sleeping skin of newborn beings, open---
 transform the emptiness of their Godlike flesh into the

world of concrete buildings running in purple hues of the
 ambrosia of endless neurotransmitting vesicles.

Suddenly, the moment the clock begins to spin; the events inside his brain immediately correspond with the events of the world around him.

It happens faster than time.

Everything becomes everything else.  The brain conjures itself.

He imagines a spider, and it crawls through the door.
His eyes are like
Tahitian blueberries, bleeding lovestruck mermaids into the heat field of boiling magic.

A neurochemical fire pauses under his skull; patterns of information sweep between the starlight and his crown of Thorns.

The sky grows thick and rich with birdsong.
The sound of nectar drips up into the goose down moon.

Synchronicity tricks the Universe into overwhelming interdependence. The connection between 0 and 1 is severed by a renegade decimal point.

One by one, the patterns intersect in seething fractal edges of perceptual dissonance.

Neurons dangle from the treetops of the rainforest canopy.

The new Gods, outside of Infinity are being
built by the algae of heaven,

assembled by the strange thoughts  in the rainforest
excrement of a tribe of two toed sloths.

***

In the Mystery of the lost whirl, blooming with dark octagonal rhodopsin synergies,
her eye billows into witch prayers,
burning streams of photon, bifurcating in the turbulent manifolds of unbroken membranes,
until in the deepest uncertainty available
a strange ghost trembles, spilling dreams into her unborn capillaries.
The flesh of all dying Gods balances under the starlit echo chamber of her blood.
Quarks of Woman's eggshell speckled skin sing; the Universe pulses sleepily blue.
A sapphire scintilla emanates from the eyes of the inverse Heaven,
spinning incomprehensible patterns of ancient bardic consciousness into a nested field churning with the daydreams of acorns.
On Golgotha, she exhales a single tear;
in the alleyway, she sleeps tangled in a nest of mathematical fire.
On Alpha Centauri, she is the Embryo of God.
The quintessential imaginary breath,
a single whisper rises on thermodynamic rubies.
Light boxes the name of God into ___________.

The Streets of Manhattan seethe with the consciousness of sanitation workers.
above a vented manhole, chiaruscuro lisps into translucent fogs and thermals of endless starvation.
Pigeon feathers drown in the neon sign above her head. Her feet are candelabras of the still point.
*
The neon sign, blooming in the penumbral jowls of that Mad dead man whose flesh moves on curves without Moving, advertises only the Second Coming of Christ.
It is all she can do not to die into the death of her own laughing.
Temples of gypsy bones sprout in the sidewalk under her feet. The strange attractor of death ripples in the fractal thunderstorms of her DNa.
High above the last atom of her skull, punctuated constellations self organize into ancient alien dream scriptures.
This is the beginning of time. She detects memories of some unknowable entity rehearsing something in her skin.
***
On the edge of her face, her mouth curves into a watering hole of amino acids dreaming of worlds beyond amino acids.
Her soul leaps across the breakfast table; is this Paradise alley?
Once, there was a map --- a series of permutations of the labyrinth. Threads like her Grandmothers hair,
falling from the blue sky in empty cycles of incomplete strangeness.

***

It has never been like this before. Her mouth is a bomb of  exploding verbs of transcendental madness.

Ammonia drips from the root of her  sacred tongue. 
Lost wizards  hunt cherubim & blood breathing dragons in the purple swells of her ever expanding bellybutton.

She has become the cosmological rage of the Goddess Minerva
balanced in the endless schisms rippling  in human spinal cords.

Imaginary numbers bathe in the winged corpses of her daydreams.

Wave after wave, her Goddess' womb is tattooed in ghastly Empyrean fires of broken memories.
An unending crest of complex equations anoints itself in the fire of her sex fueled despair.

Over and over, clouds with alien eyes mount her swollen flesh with flames of the Emerald Hell's ultimate desire.

Three variables of the divine hallucination surrender to her souls, declaring themselves as spies for God.

Broken teacups hover above the Seattle skyline.

It rains communion wine.

God's face ignites in a hallowed ballet of living symbols. White noise bathes golden dolphins in a splash of sudden blue torpor.

She becomes the universe cradling life in a spectrum of unfinished reality;

xylophones unite in Mixolodian treble. The molecules of her heart gallop like Lady Godiva,

quavering in the calculus of the  caduceus of the underworld.

Virgin laughter reverses the polarity of her imagination.
It is all She can do but open her eyes into the endless Starlight,
where
the Gods have written her name in the dark spaces where nothingness Is.

***

The human soul blooms in twelve sides of

 Sisyphean necromancy.

A white winged witch rises;  She is a soap bubble in the blue dish of the ocean.

The  open eyed Ouija board howls the I Ching to a marigold in the cracked sidewalks of Manhattan;

  a madman pauses on the steps of St. Patrick Cathedral.

Wildflowers pulse in his female id, transposing the symphony of aphids into colors of unimaginable fury.

The abyss grows clear, like an Opium thieves memory under the gaze of the Infinite Sphinx.

Neutrons chant the expanding history of God's deepest listening. Van Gogh's mouth hovers like a poisonous spaceship over some sugar coated Las Vegas. Troglodyte prayers rotate in the lungs of passing seraphim.

It is long after death, light years before rebirth.

The museum of dreams self organizes in improbable heresies around still points the color of Judges' teeth.

Golden frequencies illuminate the illusion of deadly nightshade in a garden grown wild with flaming Witch ovaries.

Flesh by flesh, the Universe undresses the hearts of ten trillion Sybils in the heat field of a hermaphroditic seers floridly conflagrated imagination.

A word gasps for breath on a liar lips. The legend of Galahad tramps in the dark soil of the mandrake steamed human brain.

In the emptiness of time, ten trillion human voices raise a flame of katydid magic on whitecaps trembling with bioluminescent poet tears.

Each note of consciousness, the paralysis of human tears, grows stronger and stranger and more distant than the echoes of the silent maw of eternity murmuring the first Mother nameless name in the void.

Time freezes in birth cartoons of white noise chanced at the gates of the mouth of an imperfect rose. A single thorn pricks Christ forehead.

The mouth of an ancient divinity harbors the breath of dusks leopardine mystery.

Exhale.

***

The  Self Assembling God of Unfinished Explanations has arrived
disguised as a piece of birthday cake, 
deep inside the Architecture of Impermanence and Mystery.

One by one, wild guesses flock like imaginary geese in the throat songs of heaven;

point by point, the still point of the paradox (with ten trillion apocalypses in every moment)
 paints itself crimson and blue,
hurricanes of endless thought slipping through the skin
of the extraterrestrial priestess.

A sudden cruel hush of electromagnetic hysteria

erupts on the African Savannah.

The Yawn of God ignites in the wildebeest's shadow.

The vision is of diamonds and fire.  Strange children erupting in

laughter at the edge of dusk. 

A tramp bathed in fire is circling the void in a strange drizzle of extraterrestrial light.

The stars are like question marks, arriving in Cadillacs of deep red and ultraviolet wisps of fleshy temptation.

God. God. Go. God. GO. Go.

 Life is molecular razzle dazzle, a riddle within an enigma
 asking itself how it begin?

Rubies die in unquiet puzzles of darkness. Emeralds leap toward the belly of the moon.

The prayers of the wicked lift like love songs into the ears of the Confessor.

Amidst the lilies of the field, the laughter of unborn sparrows crushes the hearts of the dead.

They laugh.  

The ghosts of Paris lift into the sky, invoking the membrane potential of it's own spiritual birth like the curl of roses and thorns.

The skeleton of God is born.  Eyes forged flesh by the hammer of Time striking on the Anvil of Space.

Her flesh rains down in pixels and microdots.

Her voice becomes a network of dissonant memories. Her neurons flooded the stars with memories of an the young woman's favorite hour,

gathered in the fireplace, listening to the sound of the rain.

Her eyes run down the star gate like dice thrown into the guilt ridden fire.

Together, they paused in the deepest orgasm of memory.

Night after night, the dream of heaven melts sad light

into the icy nightmare of absolute motionless motion.

As the queen of endless Consequence, her heart traps Hamlet deep inside the belly of a wandering thought star.

Night into word, word into ear, ear into soul; the vagabond is the  mouth of the undreamt God, sweeping crushed mathematical silences into the strange unholy menageries of the Oracle inside her Neurons.

***

A night bird quivering;

itself into life, living in the blueness of the stained glass window.

A Queen anointed the Bell of her head in

twelve octaves of non local chrysanthemum portents.

She slipped into her own skin, like a whirlpool slipping into the ocean.
Moment by moment, the room was polarized into being and non being.

The cathedral echoed with a dead priest's Proton / Neutron / Electron Shell sermon.
From deep inside the inviolable heart of madness,

as they slept in the Texas asylum,

a crucifix marched down Commerce Street,

carrying an old man toward the river,

where his memories would stir the world into great pangs of incomprehensible

suffering and unforgivable love.

At night, the strange flock of birds with eyes like wicked gamblers landed on the banks of the river.

Golden orbs; faceless women; supermodels walking with Cyclopean Riverboat Gamblers;

until the Prophets opened the mouth of a downtown mannequin;

laughter like the exploding syntax of heaven,

a codex of languages beyond the spectrum of ordinary Sound.

And in the schizoid cortex, a macabre ballet of probability and chance!

Brownian motion erupts amongst the molecules of a series of ideas and thoughts,

like ballerinas balanced on the event horizon;

God is waiting to happen.

A single painted face falls in a spiral down from the ceiling; Michelangelo calculates the triumph of his wounded eyes.

It is enough to turn the plurality of "Gods" into a singular "God".

The unification of all possible divinities; a crucifix, a rubicon of infinite egress;

single point, the exit wound of death, the heresy of the singularity.

She turned towards the cage. And saw Lucifer smiling through the glass. His eyes were violet Spanish windowpanes.

She listened for a heartbeat. There were trillions, syncopated and timed to

the pulsing of the Sparrow's purple chromosomes.

The mannequin turned it's head toward the sky, began swallowing clouds of human paranoia. It was a miracle of the passion of strangeness;

Degree by degree, a brand new Cloud of Swallowing Birds erupted from the field of all becoming.

The stained glass window of the Lost Cathedral ---

shed blueness into indigo, the lost notes of the Choir

landed on the Empty skull at Zenith,   and within aeons ---

the Universe began to grow winged roses,

each speaking to each the tongueless speech

of thunderclouds in the alchemist's eyes,

revealing thirteen raindrops of the Ouroboros and the Quell.

***

Deep in her skin, the Number line shifts to the edge of the World.

Strange fields of potatoes, cotton, Zeros and Ones, electrons -- ghosts, elements, whirlwinds --- lost human faces, identity states --  ripple from the eastern fields of primordal magic to the manifestations of the still point locked in the inner sanctum of her skull.

Over and over, She reveals to herself:  the inside is the outside.
The Universe is a mirror that is breaking, over and over again.

The entire pagan pantomime has ended in a brilliant flourish of a Game of Chess at the end of History.

Moment by moment the heart of God plays it's strange gambit:  amnesiac pawns.  Psychotic Knights.  Bishops lost in retrograde spin.    Rooks broken and shattered by the gravity of Time.

King to King;  the chess board becomes a vortex of unfinished thought.

At the edge of her casket, which is everywhere:
Foreign smiles erupt on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea;

the dolphins of her heart leap through the landscape of water and golden bells.
The bells ring like the Voice of Seraphim.  Over and over,
strange tones of whirling waves.
 
The Ocean whispers illusions of the love making of the Sorcerer buried in her eyes.

Her tongue licks the clouds as it rains, strange minuets of unbecoming.

She bears witness against the theory of the square root of -1.

A Djinn leaps from her bellybutton.

The love song of God lures God through God's antithetical paradox, like thread through the eye of a needle a million vortices wide.

In the eyes of the Psychotic Leviathan, lurking in the faces of the audience;

She traced the rhythm of God's ultimate Godlike Heresy; until

the theory of Lucifer's confession spiraled out of control,

like a series of sobbing women with broken hearts and bloody faces, bombed by the crimes of the War and  trapped in the fine print of the newspaper.

For ten trillion years, the Old Gods sang an insane conclusion:

the bullets of the Eternal War are shaped like the tears of the Insane God.

Bullets like teardrops.
Bullets like teardrops. 

The three combinations of tragedy, comedy and love? They wore their human flesh into the mystery of reality.

Tragedy laughed; comedy wept. Mystery turns silent.

Twelve times in twenty three minutes; leaving one minute alone in the corner, weeping like an orphan on the edge of the Universe,

A strange schism erupts on the cyclic madness of the Adversary of Man.

 Steel and Glass rose and tumbled through the zephyr of her breath.

The nocturnal madman of dissonance and jazz whispered preternatural onomatopoeia through the eyeballs of a God that no longer believes in itself.

She was Daydreaming on the rooftops of the World;
Skulls bathed in curvatures of flesh darkened by cities whose children  are being made intangible by windswept conversations about the sex life of Archangels and the
dream world of Mountain gorillas playing over and over again, like the memory of Sisyphus in the bowels of the convenience store.

Thundering disbelief, like a faceless face from the Watchers outside of time.

A broken mirror reassembles in her star borne eyes.

And then? And then. And then:  Nothing happened.

***

And it was then, at the moment of greatest uncertainty,

that the Great Sleeping Madman 

Pablo Picasso;

unannounced an inconsolate weeping

 from deep within the smooth mirrored surface of his Mouth,

the language of God in a discotheque,  a grave of still living Priests

 singing his twelve million reincarnations into the Infinite Light;

when the Square Apostles arrived, carrying circular eggs

 like the fists of the Sailors of Atlantis

Tangents of Archangels bathe Greek fire of the Summer time sun

until Cadillacs like the Ghost of Secretariat

ripple in  a triangular  Eye.

Red hearts nurses purple wounds. 

Yellow strikes a match in the Emergency Room.

Blueness scoops an ice cream.

 throngs of green beings with multiple faces burn into

winter roses.

A carnival of strange silvers ignites on the sidewalk

Kurt Godel issues Godot a Speeding ticket into the cubist madhouse.

The dream of light unexplained? 

Century of the Ghost Asylum, haunting

the quiet point in this human heart. 

A whisper. A buzz.  A rush of upward senses.

Something has happened.

***

The Pendulums of Mystery, swinging in cycles of the

endless upward spiral,

  the perpetual motion of the fist, the Sculpting of Time

from Space, in the anti gravity

 permutations of God's unimaginable strangeness--- 

when the Garden of the Light 

suddenly self organized around the Jewel Trees

the heart of the Universe broke into bifurcating  mysteries ...  The ...

Them .  .  .

 in that fabled history of the spectral dream:

 the climactic egress of the love cycle of the Pantheon,

her heart beat coiled, colliding with itself  in twelve hemiquavers;

manifesting in thousands of non local locations simultaneously.

Ten trillion anonymous incarnations. Myth. Motion.

The wild sickness of Non Being, uncurable ---

In an instantaneous curl of phosphorescent wilderness,

her mouth flickered like an Alien Goddess golden tongue

 above a carnival of Mimes

 lost  in central Kansas.

Her eyes hovered like naked phantasms

 illuminating the light bulbs of Grand Central Station.

Her fingers stroked strange empyrean fires on Christian born

violins in Mecca.

One version of herself began chasing magical bears in Siberia.

There were no answers.  There never will be answers.

Just reason and rhyme and the strange soliloquy of questions.

Another child

laughed from inside the eye of a velvet bumblebee.

Tears fell like the laughter of the biblic Prophets

locusts and wild honey.   The eyes of Light moving into Light.

Three thousand nine hundred and twenty seven

versions of her 97th Chromosome

suddenly crested in the blue eyes of men

whose eyes had suddenly  died to meaning.

A heart broke.   A dream burst.  The world?

A Ouija board lifted into the living room.   Who knows what next?

The Sky  became   unlocked in the space between Souls,

ferns and lichens began reporting love stories of God,

tear by tear, instant replay of the Infinite Regress.

Her skin flooded with the adrenaline of nonsense.

She began to count through a field of endless Zeros and Ones.

And roses.

The disciples of love appeared disguised as a school of silver fish that swam

 through astral lattices towards the place She slept

and she slept.  And slept.  And the sleep

tasted like birth.  Salt and Creation fire.

Until she found the place where there was only

starlight, humming and whirring, jungles and gardens

and the sounds of birds being born. 

She breathed in every one of  her own deaths, becoming

each moment less real than the moment before.

Some nameless something slipped between Quarks of the Real. 

 a swarm of Ghosts appeared in the Wilderness of Her opening Eyes.

***

Two perfect strangers kissing

the wounded God in each other's eyes

light catacombs of  innocence

where become the  starry ghosts of love 

And they  walk into sleep ---- giving birth

to unborn monsters -- locked in flesh --- eyeless, mouthless

in their own ventriloquist urge,

where the  flowers gasp

in astonishment at the boredom of

the Angels ---

the heartlessness of Dr. God appearing in a sunlit bruise, 

needles and mystery,  pills and retribution,

the Second Coming reoccurs every moment

as the strange trees howl at

something laughing at the explosions in your left ear,

prayers of Armaggedon murmured at the breakfast table

where the mouth drops crumbs of biscuits

for the Wicked Witch to analyze, like the fecal droppings of Puppets --- 

and with the last incarnation

of St. John the Divine; 

we Watch as the Doctor unwinds his veins

and places them in the hands of the

Asylum Priest.  A fetus hides in the splintered paint.

The man with the permanent erection is waiting to have his nerves sliced. 
Down the hallway, where the butterflies leap from Monet's

xeroxed buttocks, 

She drifts to earth in a million strange senses.

Screaming of some dying Jazz singer, 

as her skull --- lurks above the the clouds,

on the asylum  rooftop  full of Secret Elves


ticking in the  clockwork of unrequited

love.

She saw the color Blue bathe  pink in D minor

while climbing Jakob's stairwell.

Leather straps, a series of Gasses ;

the admonition:  SIT STILL.  LAY DOWN.

DON'T MOVE. 

Her eyes like a tongue of Parisian Fairies,

plumbed the taste buds of an Orange in the Catacombs,

where --- with a flicker of their serpentine strobes

She'd listen to the thieves sleeping in the snowflakes of Time

curled, like embryos, around the Pearl of Fool's Gold 

and as she  crawled from dimension to dimension

with the satellite dish of her skin opening like a Circus Tent

Her heart detected the pulsing lies of song drunk crickets,

 from twelve miles away.

For her, the universe was a temple of infinite words

that sang of  uranium burning in the cathedral of Christ's

 haunted skin.  Where the wounds glow on the blacksmith's hammer,

and Every moment is a explosive turn of the Eternal curves of

the Human Eye

She wants to be the Christ.
She dreams of  Lucifer swimming through her veins.

 She sends love poems to the trillions of dying beings,

lost in light and darkness, running from the future,

in negation of the aeons past.

And every day her senses multiply.

 their acuity, shivers,

 One by one, the conversations complexified around her.

Strangers tongues knotted in disbelief at her spiritual madness.

Her heart became a rainbow of Genetic Code;

Her frontal cortex was a supercomputer rainforest,

full of mud and the binary code of strange monkey hunting lizards,

 licking their way into judgment of hunger and the grace of life

in treetops painted like Van Gogh's eyes, in the endless motion

of the Madness of God

Every moment, the world responded to her every secret wish.

She became gigantic, her probability field extending for miles in every direction.

Coughing strangers alerted her to shifts in her mood.

A passing bird became her Mother's wisdom.

Life was beyond erratic. Life was beyond control. Life was a spontaneous transmission of the divine

Through flesh made from endless mysterious chain reactions.

She watched as two fire ants struggled like gladiators over a crumb of chocolate.

She threw them at the sun,  and wept for days. There was no escaping the cataclysmic nightmare of her own immortal power.

Suddenly, She laughed.  Like Shakespeare on his way to the Grave, and

in that moment, the River itself lifted into heaven on the wings

of a a katydid bathed in the hologram at the Beginning of Time.

***

Enzymes of eternity whirl in the Oceans where  zig zag Ziggurats

fill with Japanese seahorses at the bottom of

the Sea of Infinitely Complex: Haiku.

 The tongue of the abyss swishes through the blue mouth of God,

 licking an old salted wound. 

Sea by sea, the nightmare gallops on hooves of Mother of Pearl.

 Across the cresting white foam, the unfinished languages of

antedeluvian Octopi elope along strange tentacles

seeding the flesh of sunbeam colored angels with words

heavy as  astronaut footprints. 

 Apokeokastasis energizes the dream of the Dreamer.

To the stars:   Ad astra, ad astra, chant the Locusts inside the Nautilus Shell.

Carpe Nocturne.  Seize the Night.   Poets:

Let the moon explode, like the wedding cake of Saints;

 on your tongue. 

Orchestrated fantasias escape her skin in polka dots of condensation, spiraling into the almost god faced clouds;

Moment by moment the night explodes into powers beyond the threshold of

comprehension.  The God faced clouds are calling her name.

thunder blesses these  strange miniature moons,

 as they fall through the autumn sky

like the eyes of some  fluorescent machine --

every moment, the night is sinking into the consciousness of owls gathering  around her bluish cheekbones.

She's sleeping in the eggshell of her own skin,

poised like Aphrodite on  the edge of the sand.  There are sea lions

sundancing in the green twilight of  her every pose. 

Those Greek plumed eyelids rise on crests of sugary bone. 

Skeleton by skeleton,

the pirate Ships turn into the wind of her voice --- revealing 

cerebral gravestones, seashells of the dying world whirling under her feet; they sing forgotten names.

   She feels the deadness of crushed dandelions licking

the fingerprints of her toes.

The night descends on the horizon like a newborn machine.

There are seven eagles balanced in the sky.

 they howl strange lullabies of eyries, legends of their feathered plumes ---

 the Tales of the Sioux, the Blackfoot ---

 igniting strange

volcanic torrents of excitation,

 moonshaped moons bathe in the god faced clouds

whirling across strange oceans painted in light of

 the stained glass windows of the

monastery on the Other Side of the World.

The whispering Salt of the Wine Dark Sea

 floods the heart of the

 Eagles, the Monks ---

 with a strange blue hypnosis.

Whirlpools of oxygen oscillate.  The Night Clouds chant

 the legend of the Kalevala. 

Over, through the Hyperborean Night

The mirrored faces roll through the sky,

 changing everything on their way into the starry sky.

The eyelids of this unfinished  Nirvana ---

are  prisons of the Vampire  apocalypse.

Genies circle the sky on carousels of magic carpets.

 There are God faced clouds,  turning violent

 in the starry sky,

bringing the thoughts of the Other world

into strange magnetic boil. 

Blackness ignites in kaleidoscopic madness under her skin.

  On the coast of her swollen libido, the night has led a thousand sea sick sailors

to crash into her skin, like dolphins beaching themselves on the Sand Castles of MIdnight's fire drunk  beach.

a piano swims inside the tide

Her spine, curled in a ribbon like a candlewick poised on the edge of a trillion futile hallucinations, ignites in a flame of symbolic logic.

The symbols erupt in boolean whispers.

The whispers dissolve
like Spirit of God on an angel's wings.

From the depths of the wine blue sea, a single point of light sweeps from the  heart of a guitarist trapped in a watery grave, a  love song poised on his lips.

The world loses it capacity to understand anything at all.

Crescendos of prayer roll through this moment. It is history. Every moment, here in the Fable of the Disturbing Night,

the language curls off the lips,

burning martyrs of the perpetual crucifixion

that invade the consciousness of northern stars

until the light Dreams oscillate like the gills of star faring sailfish.

In the lost logic of heaven's

 unknowable name; words float like ocelots,

racing on horned feet across the  sea of unfinished prayers.

Cell by cell, isocahedrons full of Prisoners eyes burst in embryos of Boolean logic;

suddenly, as her nostrils flare into wild orgasms of breath, time bending hummingbirds channel Egyptian divinities through mouths painted by empty painters fists,

punching the human soul into paroxysms of perfect pointillism.

Slaves of the first and last machine sing recombining chromosomes into the open wound of Michaelangelo's paint fueled lungs.

In his heart of exploding probability;  the phantasmagoria of the Interior World of Angels --- rising and falling on crests of human bone ---

begins to become real.

Molecule by molecule,

Amoebas trip into the fingertips of God

churning a million differential equations

 into whirlpools of living beings.

and on the edge of the dawn,

where her face falls into the Sea:

the  whiskers of the first cat

burst with madmen, into the blue light of

the Alphabet of Unfinished Questions

 ***

Enzymes of eternity whirl in the Oceans where  zig zag Ziggurats

fill with Japanese seahorses at the bottom of

the Sea of Infinitely Complex: Haiku.

 The tongue of the abyss swishes through the blue mouth of God,

 licking an old salted wound. 

Sea by sea, the nightmare gallops on hooves of Mother of Pearl.

 Across the cresting white foam, the unfinished languages of

antedeluvian Octopi elope along strange tentacles

seeding the flesh of sunbeam colored angels with words

heavy as  astronaut footprints. 

 Apokeokastasis energizes the dream of the Dreamer.

To the stars:   Ad astra, ad astra, chant the Locusts inside the Nautilus Shell.

Carpe Nocturne.  Seize the Night.   Poets:

Let the moon explode, like the wedding cake of Saints;

 on your tongue. 

Orchestrated fantasias escape her skin in polka dots of condensation, spiraling into the almost god faced clouds;

Moment by moment the night explodes into powers beyond the threshold of

comprehension.  The God faced clouds are calling her name.

thunder blesses these  strange miniature moons,

 as they fall through the autumn sky

like the eyes of some  fluorescent machine --

every moment, the night is sinking into the consciousness of owls gathering  around her bluish cheekbones.

She's sleeping in the eggshell of her own skin,

poised like Aphrodite on  the edge of the sand.  There are sea lions

sundancing in the green twilight of  her every pose. 

Those Greek plumed eyelids rise on crests of sugary bone. 

Skeleton by skeleton,

the pirate Ships turn into the wind of her voice --- revealing 

cerebral gravestones, seashells of the dying world whirling under her feet; they sing forgotten names.

   She feels the deadness of crushed dandelions licking

the fingerprints of her toes.

The night descends on the horizon like a newborn machine.

There are seven eagles balanced in the sky.

 they howl strange lullabies of eyries, legends of their feathered plumes ---

 the Tales of the Sioux, the Blackfoot ---

 igniting strange

volcanic torrents of excitation,

 moonshaped moons bathe in the god faced clouds

whirling across strange oceans painted in light of

 the stained glass windows of the

monastery on the Other Side of the World.

The whispering Salt of the Wine Dark Sea

 floods the heart of the

 Eagles, the Monks ---

 with a strange blue hypnosis.

Whirlpools of oxygen oscillate.  The Night Clouds chant

 the legend of the Kalevala. 

Over, through the Hyperborean Night

The mirrored faces roll through the sky,

 changing everything on their way into the starry sky.

The eyelids of this unfinished  Nirvana ---

are  prisons of the Vampire  apocalypse.

Genies circle the sky on carousels of magic carpets.

 There are God faced clouds,  turning violent

 in the starry sky,

bringing the thoughts of the Other world

into strange magnetic boil. 

Blackness ignites in kaleidoscopic madness under her skin.

  On the coast of her swollen libido, the night has led a thousand sea sick sailors

to crash into her skin, like dolphins beaching themselves on the Sand Castles of MIdnight's fire drunk  beach.

a piano swims inside the tide

Her spine, curled in a ribbon like a candlewick poised on the edge of a trillion futile hallucinations, ignites in a flame of symbolic logic.

The symbols erupt in boolean whispers.

The whispers dissolve
like Spirit of God on an angel's wings.

From the depths of the wine blue sea, a single point of light sweeps from the  heart of a guitarist trapped in a watery grave, a  love song poised on his lips.

The world loses it capacity to understand anything at all.

Crescendos of prayer roll through this moment. It is history. Every moment, here in the Fable of the Disturbing Night,

the language curls off the lips,

burning martyrs of the perpetual crucifixion

that invade the consciousness of northern stars

until the light Dreams oscillate like the gills of star faring sailfish.

In the lost logic of heaven's

 unknowable name; words float like ocelots,

racing on horned feet across the  sea of unfinished prayers.

Cell by cell, isocahedrons full of Prisoners eyes burst in embryos of Boolean logic;

suddenly, as her nostrils flare into wild orgasms of breath, time bending hummingbirds channel Egyptian divinities through mouths painted by empty painters fists,

punching the human soul into paroxysms of perfect pointillism.

Slaves of the first and last machine sing recombining chromosomes into the open wound of Michaelangelo's paint fueled lungs.

In his heart of exploding probability;  the phantasmagoria of the Interior World of Angels --- rising and falling on crests of human bone ---

begins to become real.

Molecule by molecule,

Amoebas trip into the fingertips of God

churning a million differential equations

 into whirlpools of living beings.

and on the edge of the dawn,

where her face falls into the Sea:

the  whiskers of the first cat

burst with madmen, into the blue light of

the Alphabet of Unfinished Questions

 ***

A single Poet's Tree of radiant blue illuminations growing like the dirty jokes of Zeus deep inside the electron flower bed of his brain, laughed, shaking the heart of the ancientVegetable Queen.

Flames flooded the Queen's fleshy green chalice with the night of Wild Intuitions.

Rivers of Vines spill into the Moonlight,  their tributaries overflowing with capillaries of chlorophyll --- eating the sunshine, spilling their guts into the hearts of the berry eating Bears.

The berries  rose up from the consciousness of the Creatrix, speaking nine million languages, talking freely of the love pangs of God.

The squirrels died and became acorns and the acorns were born again and became the eyes of the squirrels.

The eyes of the squirrels were churches full of infinite Buddhas where one praying mantis howled vectors of probability across the field where the Hindu God Brahma lay sleeping.

The entire forest was lisping with absolute madness. Stuttering with beauty, the chocolatey  abyss of soil and golden teacup faced insects named their tiny love struck children after creations greatest mystery:

Silence.

A lone leaf fell, licking the sunbeams on  it's way down into the nest of a hollow log.

It conjured up rainbows ofsalvation, each a stranger shade of the toothless smile of the Goddess than the next.

Suddenly, the Queen of Lovers slipped into her skin and knew: infinity isthe world of Light.

Light.  It created her as she created it in the Cathedral of her Perceptions.

 She sang for ten trillion eons of the lilting yellows.

The strange black rainbow of widowed moons coded in the

sunlight flooding the forest floor.

Color. She knocked on Blue's Russian window. She grasped Red's everlasting shadow.

She nodded in a Purple prison made real by Pink's bewitching insanity.

Everything in that day began to know the strength of it's own miracles.

The Goddess' fingers slipped like strange thieves, lifting the lids off of the  coffins of the dead, revealing night after night of endless spiritual gold.

Silver smiles tripped through mercurial embers into the slipstream of an owl's heart.

Pearls of Soul, forged by wicked ghosts whose teeth shined like piranhas in the Infinity of the Unreal. 

And the forest grew rich with death and birth. The mystery was never known, ever present, yet always an event to be sought.

The mystery was: To die, to live, to recreate the Miracle of You.

To flutter into the soil like a butterfly pirouettes into heaven.

On the edge of these outlandish whirling whispers:  the forest sighed, and a strange thing, resembling the dream of humankind fell out of  the trees and onto the solid ground  and the night was made holy and sacred and then:  strange, strangely forever.

***

Angel's eyes, ripe like pomegranates.  A Series of Infinite Verbs.

They turn wild, naked like the first Eden, charged with chaos and

the memory of uncertain genocides,

where eyeless men engage in deep philosophical nightmares

ten thousand molecules deep into his bloodstream.

Undreamable armies swell in the fields of shadows slipping up through the ground from the blind roaring of the "Roman Wilderness of Pain".

Prayer after prayer fuels the strange wind,
lifting flocks of birds into the deep Greek Ether.

One by one, the Verbs break into the Universe.

And as if in answer to these cosmological prayers, the Dead Queen's hair blooms with the neon whirling spikes of the deep sea anemone.

On the ocean floor, a vagina is born.

Murmurs twitch in shadows of the great beast that slouches on the crests of ocean waves.

God escapes through puzzles of human flesh

growing like Sailors' souls in the logic of the underworld.

The universe open's it's wings into the  soreness of lost love, every star suddenly  bathed in a monsoon of the transcendent death defying logic.

Her eyes:  they are trembling UFO's full of future paranoia;

 the prayers of freedom seeking convicts,

the confessions of post - psychotic nuns,

the hopes of a Priest on the verge of ten million re-incarnations

every tongue trembling like the drum of the lunatics

under her skin. Her face is a prison.

The Verbs are escaping, running in crazy freedoms outside of anyone's control.

Her whispers are bottled Ships, sent into the Afterlife,  containing only those souls that have escaped Heaven and have

landed like Columbus, in the India of her flesh.

And in this golden truth machine, as the language of the jeweled illusions falls through the abyss in perfect magic---

a green earth turns it's eye toward's the  subterranean light

of the Vagina on the Ocean Floor.

Starlight falls like the pollen of a Utopian neurosis.

A blue eyed woman in a skirt designed by faceless magicians turns on her heel toward a sky infected with white noise and boomerang faced sparrows.

Deep in the star spangled night, a king dies during his first kiss. The angels in the courtyard multiply in grotesque gambits

across a chess board of monstrously  meaningless

parables.

Salvation is instantaneous and eternally irreversible.

The bodies of madmen circle the sky in haloes of golden superstitions.

The summertime sky is full of clouds that charge the night with epitaphs on poets tombstones.

Every moment is more imaginary than the next.

The mothership ascends into the Face of God through the pores of human skin.

***

The future  Fantasia;

--- a chimera of consciousness --- the  infinite simultaneity

 of  freedom;  the Creation of Creation,

who pollinated the Sky, brought the Sea into the Sunlight

whirling with a flock of time travelling neutrinos ---

She is alive, bathed in liquid crystal, negative entropy holograms,

binary code hidden in butterfly;s wings.

and was hysterical with the living God's love,

and ran through Heaven sparkling with the jeweled facets of the cobra mouth

flickering above a convenience store in a storm of perfect coincidence

above the place where the roots of civilization

were strangling off in a desperate denouement

of paralysis and torpor; She, the Goddess of the

Fulcrum of  Time, had illuminated the poet's heart,

and for a trillion instantaneous simultaneities,

the triple faced eyes of the moon mermaids sipping Tea

as the Ocean

wept the pagan melodies,

Greek myths buried themselves in the newspaper

 until Gondwanaland was

crawling with Fairy Queens,

whose wings of bioluminescent skin lifted,

 whirling and being born again and again in a never ending

dream ---

Through the  mad babble of stories spilling up

 from the mouth of mankind -

igniting wisterias with poppy smoke in the throat

of summer's dolphin eyed angels.

And suddenly: the machines died.

Electricity quit flowing.  The Sky became blue, the

night Stars --- an endless tropic holiness ofg

Old men weeping trances of mathematical data.

 Machine gun fire died in the night.

Civilization stirred like the eye of a hurricane force wind of blasphemy

And in the dead god's self loathing lie,

balanced in the space above the Eternal City of an echo chamber brain,

a neurological virus flooded the earth and sent

humanity back into the divine geometrical urge;

Cerebellum after cerebellum emptied the Invasion of the

 Machines into the Post- Industrial Jungle,

 every neutron of every broken resistor

 began singing, burning like Lucifer's lungs

with the strange light  the Great Green Vegetable Heaven,

until in the last moment, a white bird swept it's face toward the sun

and She (the She that remained alive) --- bathed in the zephyr of

negative entropy --- and swept weeping

  into perfect fugue and fantasy as her lovers --

the trillions upon trillions,  and one unborn God

--- began to arrive like famous memories

into portraits of the Children found swirling in the Genesis of her own

pregnant heart.

The Angel was born at the End of Time.

***

A mysterious verb races in curves of cubist oddness

 through the exquisite cadaver of the human heart;

in a blur of psychedelia and perilous enchantment of words beyond words

with no meaning,

the verb, the word, moves out of her brain and

 ignites the forges of creation in the whirling chance
of wild electrons pooling on the edge of the bulls eye of
her Guernica face. 

Tar pits begin to pool around the psychotic ballerinas.

Ten million human guns scream in futile apocalyptic cruelty.

Thunder ignites on the candlewick of a blind man's optic chiasm.

The sun burns empty cathedrals into kaleidoscopes of spiritual paranoia.

Vertebrae by vertebrae, the human spine explodes in designer taboos

engineered by the Godless cherubim of the Dead Star of Gehenna.

A rainbow, tapping it roots on the ceiling of the soil, infects the skin

of a Vampire with the miracle of normalcy.

On the streets, Yul Brynner gallops into Picasso birth canal.

A furious silence searches for  it's Father in the Bullseye of Guernica.

The strangers turn defiant under the shadow of God's open mouth.

Lizards surface in naked phantasmagoria on the edge of cast iron

manholes.

A stream of confetti suggests the atoms trapped underneath a ballerinas

eyelids; the parade grows dense with aquatic fevers.

Sephiroth hatches a phoenix above her frozen skull. The bird descends

through fields turning naked in delirium with ever expanding questions.

Down, into the curious mirage of hate, the dream of circus poets

cauterizes the wounds of eternity in a poem too strange to be written.

Lattices of ancient geometrical realities shoot from the fingertips of

architects bathed in platonic madness of light after light infiltrating

their flesh with rays of cosmic curiousity.

Her toes twitch like apples in cat's eyes. The archetypes of ravens glows

in the permanent heartache of her ever recurring birth.

Through the spinning chambers of the eternal return, atoms chant secret

names of Eskimos, orphans, Pharoahs and nightmares.

Her breath grows deep, deeper, deepest. Down, darkening, down, sounds,

zounds, swooning

in a feathery swirl of judgment and theory, her mouth moves in slow

motion around the lost syllable of Christ's adolescent gasp ---  at the

moment of his first realization of the unfathomable depths of human

suffering.

***

In the slipstreams of the silhouette, the soliloquy of silence ---
 
inside the surface of the strangest smile,
over arc and tangent of the Einstein Podolsky Rosen Bridge,  in the curling weirdness of the celestial dandelion poof, where  the sacred churning of the whale's tail on the edge of Infinity sounds like a Mother's cooing,
---  down, far down in
the event horizon of  cellular nuclei # 2992778168812, She changed the channel and became a blue Tomato.
The television sizzled into birth on the horizon; burst into Resistors and diodes, and Sang
of it's secret life within the Human Imagination. 
The Soul seeking Cameras at the end of Time
swiveled into the still point of perfect insanity. 
 Infinite Incarnations.   She became the Whale. The tear.
The cloud.  The phantom.  The clock.  The daisy.   The Electron.

Who changed the channel of this Universe, She sang?
"Who are you to ask, without a mouth?", the silence responded.
An audience assembled, like the  Face of a Clown assembles around
a brick: 
Suddenly, she felt the eyes of a Sphinx:
exploding like the  light of heaven;
writing riddles of photons on her flesh.
Word by word, her skin unlocked itself into strange trapeziums of endlessly complexity
unfolding like roses in the Ever Present Gaze of Everything.
 Always the Gaze.
The Electron Eye.  The eLEctron EYEYYEYEYEYYEYE.
 
Her fingertips burst into flaming  poetry.
One by one, the guests announced themselves:
Strange men with  Monkey faces with fists full of money.
Women with frogs weeping in their eyes. 
Lightning bolt skinned transvestites.
 Dozens of  madmen howling the  secret name of certain existential dogs.  Do they exist? 
Like razors.  Like lasers.  Like the phases of the moon.
These creatures
ripple in the bathroom mirror, turning you inside out,
until you condense.
Cell by cell, your blood & your soul evaporates:
 You become cloudlike, hovering in strange places without speech:
 Like thunder over Calcutta.
 Or humming birds iu the Louvre.   Butterflies in God's Eyebrows.
 Or Silence at the Led Zeppelin concert.
On the edge of this hovering madness,
where your skin disappears:  there is
a mystery: 
1010101010101010101000100100100001001001010001
0010100100100101010010101010010101101010010010
10011010010010110101001010101010010100101001010
 YES AND NO AND NO AND NO AND YES AND YES:
and the green ness.  the red ness.  the blue ness.
Geometry of Octopi boiling in the boiling of God's inhuman heart. 
The language is bioluminescent, like Picasso's wet dream. 
A flock of birds fly:
 out of her uterus, breeding strange winds  into the vaginal delirium.
And it was good.  She sang.
Inside the cornstalks, the Western Silhouette turns  ghostlike, exhaling rumors and myths of the Great Magician Houdini.
A Scarecrow's tongue,  flutters and comes unfurled.  A flag of madness
in the Western sky under a rich tapestry of synchronicity.
His flesh --- burning in this wicked heat;  it is a  prayer shawl
from ten miles away; he stitches his flesh with threads of her immortal soul.
In the silhouette of time;  She witnesses  a prayer transmute itself from a Verb, into a Swan's wing and finally into the mouth of a beggar.
A silver coin appears inside her golden mouth.
Her Father elopes into the moonlight like a Praying Mantis cloaked in a Wizards' robe on Christmas Day.
Here eyes were black like dead machines,
 made holy by their absence of light.
Song after song, strange machine gods lit the  Kundalini serpent in the oscillations of her spine.
The noise of God. The light of Heaven.  Over and over, endlessness.
The night came and she listened to the sound of the Universe making love to itself.
The lovers voices were were charged with a churning chasm of numerological bliss.
Gemini; Pisces, Aquarius, Libra.  The nine trillion eyes of mystery
plundering her flesh for new salvations.
She felt her fingers slip into the heart of a newborn tarantula.
Her lips rise and fall  like roses and fangs, opening and closing like Thunder inside the corn.

***

In the slipstreams of the silhouette, the soliloquy of silence ---
 
inside the surface of the strangest smile,
over arc and tangent of the Einstein Podolsky Rosen Bridge,  in the curling weirdness of the celestial dandelion poof, where  the sacred churning of the whale's tail on the edge of Infinity sounds like a Mother's cooing,
---  down, far down in
the event horizon of  cellular nuclei # 2992778168812, She changed the channel and became a blue Tomato.
The television sizzled into birth on the horizon; burst into Resistors and diodes, and Sang
of it's secret life within the Human Imagination. 
The Soul seeking Cameras at the end of Time
swiveled into the still point of perfect insanity. 
 Infinite Incarnations.   She became the Whale. The tear.
The cloud.  The phantom.  The clock.  The daisy.   The Electron.

Who changed the channel of this Universe, She sang?
"Who are you to ask, without a mouth?", the silence responded.
An audience assembled, like the  Face of a Clown assembles around
a brick: 
Suddenly, she felt the eyes of a Sphinx:
exploding like the  light of heaven;
writing riddles of photons on her flesh.
Word by word, her skin unlocked itself into strange trapeziums of endlessly complexity
unfolding like roses in the Ever Present Gaze of Everything.
 Always the Gaze.
The Electron Eye.  The eLEctron EYEYYEYEYEYYEYE.
 
Her fingertips burst into flaming  poetry.
One by one, the guests announced themselves:
Strange men with  Monkey faces with fists full of money.
Women with frogs weeping in their eyes. 
Lightning bolt skinned transvestites.
 Dozens of  madmen howling the  secret name of certain existential dogs.  Do they exist? 
Like razors.  Like lasers.  Like the phases of the moon.
These creatures
ripple in the bathroom mirror, turning you inside out,
until you condense.
Cell by cell, your blood & your soul evaporates:
 You become cloudlike, hovering in strange places without speech:
 Like thunder over Calcutta.
 Or humming birds iu the Louvre.   Butterflies in God's Eyebrows.
 Or Silence at the Led Zeppelin concert.
On the edge of this hovering madness,
where your skin disappears:  there is
a mystery: 
1010101010101010101000100100100001001001010001
0010100100100101010010101010010101101010010010
10011010010010110101001010101010010100101001010
 YES AND NO AND NO AND NO AND YES AND YES:
and the green ness.  the red ness.  the blue ness.
Geometry of Octopi boiling in the boiling of God's inhuman heart. 
The language is bioluminescent, like Picasso's wet dream. 
A flock of birds fly:
 out of her uterus, breeding strange winds  into the vaginal delirium.
And it was good.  She sang.
Inside the cornstalks, the Western Silhouette turns  ghostlike, exhaling rumors and myths of the Great Magician Houdini.
A Scarecrow's tongue,  flutters and comes unfurled.  A flag of madness
in the Western sky under a rich tapestry of synchronicity.
His flesh --- burning in this wicked heat;  it is a  prayer shawl
from ten miles away; he stitches his flesh with threads of her immortal soul.
In the silhouette of time;  She witnesses  a prayer transmute itself from a Verb, into a Swan's wing and finally into the mouth of a beggar.
A silver coin appears inside her golden mouth.
Her Father elopes into the moonlight like a Praying Mantis cloaked in a Wizards' robe on Christmas Day.
Here eyes were black like dead machines,
 made holy by their absence of light.
Song after song, strange machine gods lit the  Kundalini serpent in the oscillations of her spine.
The noise of God. The light of Heaven.  Over and over, endlessness.
The night came and she listened to the sound of the Universe making love to itself.
The lovers voices were were charged with a churning chasm of numerological bliss.
Gemini; Pisces, Aquarius, Libra.  The nine trillion eyes of mystery
plundering her flesh for new salvations.
She felt her fingers slip into the heart of a newborn tarantula.
Her lips rise and fall  like roses and fangs, opening and closing like Thunder inside the corn.

***

Andante, the  adamantine violin;

sings endless doremifasolatido,

seeding  solace, a soliton of the celestial serendip,

rain walking into the Sea of Tranquility on the

footsteps of  the Grandfather Oak,

the face of ancient Symbol unfurled in flooding fingerprints,

 a lyre of Orphic foreshadowing,

hung in the starlit canopy,

where dreamless sleep of neutrons  the neuron,

 and the ringing of the Bells in hummingbird throat

conjured the  wood flesh with lunged thunder of the thirsting thought,

the voice of the Godess Gods an echo roaring in the bark

of the open mouth of oaken wood knots rooted in the maddened

earth.

Eyes and lips, hunger of lumbering thrush -- unquenched,

the Oak slakes it's innocence on the laughter of the falling leaf,

and by the falling into winter reveals the songs write by

Kings of the man mad madness

 of the Eldritch whirling in the whorls of wind

Willow mother transcends her slither,

disappearing like a rainbow, into the hovel of the clutching earth. 

Flesh and dream bring rings of interpolated laughter

 into a strange tangle of the enchanted nerve,

bringing twelve new algebras across the butterfly wings

 in footsteps of the Imaginary Beings of the Soul.

A googolplex of thought:

pollinating nations, screaming endless light scintilla

 of the Eyeless underworld child,

writing names in the  mascara of the Wiccan Priestess

that sleeps in the nerves of Orchids pooling in the

brachiating flood of bifurcating lovers

The woman's soul is a curtain of arboreal uncertainty.

 She taps her feet lightly on the Leviathan's skull,

 dancing and drifting through the forest Alleyway on the toe shoes of inviolate violets,

 balanced in the parabolic curve of nonesuch keeping simple beauty. The night of this unquelled uncertainty ignites the wild embers with the paradox of ouroubouros.

She is He and He is You and none of them are either neither either neither living nor not even dead.

She begins in an indeterminate stance; her fingertips plucking coal of Vainamoinen, whispered raindrops from the thoughtless sky, her abdomen wrapped in thought around the light beams

of the beginning of the time the thought began. Magic and Science, words like neutron hours, each a version of the warring nightmares

 that burn with ghastly hunt of desire; in walls and shadow, they turn the spirit into the spirit, thermodynamic systems migrating along curves not made for human comprehension.

 Her mouth sucks flowering parallelograms up from the place where the sleepers knot perfect strangers into knots of sleepless mysteries of newborn love.

Her vagina growls, a deep well of sacred geometry mirrored in the white hot salt of the Sea of Poetic Metaphors.

The city of the Life After Life is a bed of disembodied thoughts invested with the strange energy of dead men's consciousness. In the celebration of this Unreal Reality,

 art performs miracles of surrealism as beauty drips from a dead man's skull.

 The laws of geometry and consequence in the Universe no longer apply.

The theatre curls into the fleshy whorls of the Knotted, dreaming Oak.

 a million Raindrops whirl into pagans of Sanskrit Telepathy,

dropping like flowery pillows on the hurricane tongue of Time

***

In the field where sight becomes song being sung by the Unsung of Singer 

where  the blue notes blush in  zephyrs of shapeshifting Verbs

and the inhuman eyes settle like the Souls of Magicians

into the eggshell monastery of your ever expanding eardrum;

a thousand new thoughts arrive every moment,

as the Snow leopards weep in crystalline vowels of disbelief,

--- their tears spilling into cascades of anti - gravity and  Sephiroth.

Mantras of ocean waves churning in the pages of thermodynamic monsoons,

convective ectsasies converging in the infinite freedom of immortal beings asleep in the skies above the subatomic Manhattan.

In the subspace of her Virgin Mother's eyelids;

a tribe of katydids begins translating the poetry of the centuries' dead Dante from written language back into it's original Life in the form of potato soup.

The creature with a trillion filaments of thought suspended in the UFO's nested in her uterus,

paints her toenails in golden green apples of impermanent impermanence.

Moment by moment, the bellybutton of the Eternal Mother --- like bridges built backward in Time --- shimmers open

revealing the eyes of the first audience, trilling with the laughter of deep sea anemone,

actors in the Daydream of the Virgin, pirouetting in perfect rhyme --- one quark away from the Throne of God.

The Unwritten poem races through the Real world at the speed of a million hieroglyphics per synchronicity.

***

The atomic curiosities of her Persian Spirit effloresce into

the caravanserai of Scheherezade, lighting

fleshy wilds  of the unfinished

light into the beginning of the center in  your

unmoored eye,

the Soul of Sails Slipping into the Sightless Sea of Sleepiness, 

through algebraic realms of instantaneous astonishment.

From well within the feathered nest of  the Trillion hearts,

the Virgin laughter reverses the Polarity of your

imaginary imagination.

 the unknowable past becomes the unforgettable future.

Here and now is now then and there;  everywhere is nothingness

to be exhaled by trillions of ruby neutrinos

 sweeping through the void in choreographed

hurricanes of unbroken symmetry.

The spiritual vine dips it's fingering snares into the deep blue

breath of the Brazilian flood soil.

an echo whorls in the wings of

The White witch

when;  ignites the severed head of God like a candlewick,

painting weirdnesss int the  shadows

like waterfalling in the mirrow of a sparrow's breaking heart.

A newborn planet exchanges wedding vows with the Widow of

 the  Moon  and the transcendental gravity

swells underneath the newborn baby's footprint 

Again and again, she turns her spirit inside out. Her body slips like a tongue into God's television.

And so it was. Her abdomen is rich with the fevered heartache of the Mississipi Delta.

Sephiroth and other vagabond angels exchange wedding vows in the heart of a Virgin.

Her left nipple erupts in a cascade of Persian dew.

Quasi-sentient scarabs migrate from the belly of the Boolean underworld across a field of Aeolian zephyrs laced in the dew of differential equations.

hell reverberates in opera paused on a dead fisherman's mouth.

A single beam of wicked illuminations paints God's digital teardrops in the howling maelstrom of neurons in the brain of Shakespeare's lost canary.

***

In the field where sight becomes song being sung by the Unsung of Singer 

where  the blue notes blush in  zephyrs of shapeshifting Verbs

and the inhuman eyes settle like the Souls of Magicians

into the eggshell monastery of your ever expanding eardrum;

a thousand new thoughts arrive every moment,

as the Snow leopards weep in crystalline vowels of disbelief,

--- their tears spilling into cascades of anti - gravity and  Sephiroth.

Mantras of ocean waves churning in the pages of thermodynamic monsoons,

convective ectsasies converging in the infinite freedom of immortal beings asleep in the skies above the subatomic Manhattan.

In the subspace of her Virgin Mother's eyelids;

a tribe of katydids begins translating the poetry of the centuries' dead Dante from written language back into it's original Life in the form of potato soup.

The creature with a trillion filaments of thought suspended in the UFO's nested in her uterus,

paints her toenails in golden green apples of impermanent impermanence.

Moment by moment, the bellybutton of the Eternal Mother --- like bridges built backward in Time --- shimmers open

revealing the eyes of the first audience, trilling with the laughter of deep sea anemone,

actors in the Daydream of the Virgin, pirouetting in perfect rhyme --- one quark away from the Throne of God.

The Unwritten poem races through the Real world at the speed of a million hieroglyphics per synchronicity.

***

The atomic curiosities of her Persian Spirit effloresce into

the caravanserai of Scheherezade, lighting

fleshy wilds  of the unfinished

light into the beginning of the center in  your

unmoored eye,

the Soul of Sails Slipping into the Sightless Sea of Sleepiness, 

through algebraic realms of instantaneous astonishment.

From well within the feathered nest of  the Trillion hearts,

the Virgin laughter reverses the Polarity of your

imaginary imagination.

 the unknowable past becomes the unforgettable future.

Here and now is now then and there;  everywhere is nothingness

to be exhaled by trillions of ruby neutrinos

 sweeping through the void in choreographed

hurricanes of unbroken symmetry.

The spiritual vine dips it's fingering snares into the deep blue

breath of the Brazilian flood soil.

an echo whorls in the wings of

The White witch

when;  ignites the severed head of God like a candlewick,

painting weirdnesss int the  shadows

like waterfalling in the mirrow of a sparrow's breaking heart.

A newborn planet exchanges wedding vows with the Widow of

 the  Moon  and the transcendental gravity

swells underneath the newborn baby's footprint 

Again and again, she turns her spirit inside out. Her body slips like a tongue into God's television.

And so it was. Her abdomen is rich with the fevered heartache of the Mississipi Delta.

Sephiroth and other vagabond angels exchange wedding vows in the heart of a Virgin.

Her left nipple erupts in a cascade of Persian dew.

Quasi-sentient scarabs migrate from the belly of the Boolean underworld across a field of Aeolian zephyrs laced in the dew of differential equations.

hell reverberates in opera paused on a dead fisherman's mouth.

A single beam of wicked illuminations paints God's digital teardrops in the howling maelstrom of neurons in the brain of Shakespeare's lost canary.

***

The exoskeleton of God implodes into  a network of televisions

in the Graveyard of Fools.  At the end of this post-imaginary

world, Heaven has anointed the eyes of

those unfinished infants into whitecaps of post modern insanity.

 The television sings of the apocalypse, a thousand archangels

whirling in silence between the Commercials.

From deep inside the Mitochondria of the Elf Queen,

a haunted Babylonion orchestra

turns over and over:  excitation of the wisdom of

purple things, lost in the wishing well of her Lilithine ovaries.

The gamma rays of Limbo twist the gordian knot of non local consciousness,

until pores of her memory flare open into permanent paradox.

From a dozen miles away, the city skyline churns with lightning and sirens,

tricking newborn integers across  the rooftops on wings of

transcendental equations, inverting the world of Ideas into

ecosystems of pure computational ecstasy.

Neutrons of the Woman's eggshell colored skin begin to chant; the Universe

arrives, dancing into the wound of wounds that has no beginning or end.

the philosophy of sapphires emanates from the soul of an audience assembled

during the heat death of Hamlet, whose Ghost flutters into the cloudlike

whirlpool of Ophelia's starlit vanity.

Tides of mystery spin incomprehensible patterns of ancient bardic consciousness

into a field drunk with the daydreams of dew bathed acorns.

On Golgotha, as Christ is being lowered from the Cross, she exhales a single

unreal tear;

hot & moist, like the dream shaking inside the Parthenon walls. Her mouth

explodes into the rainforest of carnivorous musculature.

Her mother's womb becomes the rubicon of the Michaelangelo tribe. Birth by

birth, her throat swarms with canticles of bumblebee poetry.

The city is trapped in the Vertiginous shadow play of salvation; nerve cells of

all the living beings alive flutter with primitive languages in nests of

hypnotic reverie.

algebraic fire quilts her brain into waves of sanity.

Moment by moment, her body explodes in antiparticles, like laughter during the

funeral of God.

The quintessential imaginary breath leaps from heart to heart,

whispering mythologies of moonless sorrow into the fleshy ark of silence.

The first inkling of Madness curls into a tribe of runaway polka dots under her

fingernails.

as the streetlamp flickers, she discovers her skin wrapped in the funeral

shroud of the wound that is not a wound.

In the still point of death, a billion light years worth of Planck time washes

the Corpse of Manhattan into the calculated fire of a tibetan hummingbird's

heart.

One by one, the faces of the audience glow, drunk with the pink noise of

eternal curiousity.

Deep in the abyss of Center stage, the Troupe of the Seventh Heaven leaps

through cycles of Shakespearean nihilism.

a Perilous Cathedral erupts in the nightmares of Limbo. Her mother's ghost

cradles holograms of unbearably mysterious love in the pillows of her breasts.

her soul lifts like Icarus into the brownian motion of hell, balancing it's

gestalt above a vented manhole, every fallow tide of chiaruscuro feathering

into translucent foglets of machine forged mantras.

Pigeon feathers cling like wounded orphans to the neon sign above her head. Her

toenails are candelabras twinkling in still frames of the apocalyptic cartoon.

***

Imaginary beings assemble like  

 the Dead Gods: lost in  the Vanishing point ---

there --- where all parallel lines converge,

and law by law ---

the flesh of the unborn

 is knotted in the nuclei of infinite

egress.

The nocturne turns,  the Circle of Seers,

a  Sphere of non euclidean conscience /

 illuminating Fractal Fractals

in Fractalline

actuals of the Serpentine  skin,

tattoos of incomprehensible thought

billowing in the Hallucinating Wind.

 Reuniting Gods with the opposite of Gods

 in the Temples of the Infinite Wow.

Thoughts.  Gazelles / the brazier, the white lyre /

strange denizens develop

 in the Particle Zoo.

 The cauldron is the stomach of Zeus, burning with

roots made of fire.   A light shadow, the Elf, the Imp,

the Golden Braid

brings threads and melodies unmade.

Conscience, the quiet escapade of  jitterbugging chimney sweeps

on the street of  Lost Carnivals,

arriving where the White beards eye the blue skins,

 green hearts leaping into purple wines

of madwomen

that rise in harlequin valentines through miracles of uncertainty's imperfect

impermanence

and faces break in jewels of Glassy god - fires, tongues swishing in maelstroms

of good luck lunacy,

while hurricanes of the divine imagination beach themselves on the shore of the

Living Genome.

Fruits burst in salvation, vegetable eyes sleeping like the monstrous wisdom

of sugars boiling on the edge of everything. where nothing Is what it Is.

Her eyes ignite in sweet swanlike swishing

of Word - crushed clouds climbing the Hot hungers of heaven,

 in spiraling spirit of Time into Time into Time of endless apparitions of

endlessness.

Upon the silence, the Song of Sirens.  Solomon's children,

 Chanting like violins, howling golden rushes on the river of light, the

reeds of this river, running the rumours of lungs

rising in gasping ligaments rippled by vortices of muddy verbs, aphids drunk on

invisible rainbows.

Enzyme colored angels churn in the larva of the UFO of Human Souls ---

assembling

mysterious chasms of being --- in canyons of our DNA.

Trillions of amino acid shaped prophecies leap in silent regard of

hieroglyphics

spinning transubstantiating memories off the runway of her tongue.

In Winter, the nightingale Mothers infant light beams in rose - powered wombs

and conjurations of

Lightning blooms in luminescent lemniscates.

The opalescent theories of lives divided by zero --- algorithms of infinite

freedom:

Kurt Godel dancing on hot coals in the Cartoon of Infinite Simultaneity.

Wisdom drips in thoughts of blood- surfing amino acids,

crowds of Christlike poetry, soul - flavored adjectves stitching God's

Grandmotherly verbs into anonymous unities of Love.

Holy laughter tunnels into daffodils --- burning irons of musculature,

eternal mysteries racing through the nucleus of the Here & Now --- the Universe

a Crime Scene?

New born prisoners leap fish - like, splashing new whispers in the starry

Uterus of Heaven.

The unwritten Mystery ignites in the punctuation marks of the daily newspaper.

On the numberline of Infinitely Spontaneous Simultaneity, at the fractal edge

of human Being --

the air in the Himalayas begins to rotate in a wild swirl around the bonfire of

the trillion dollar rose.

Her lips pucker into pearls and pomegranates, sorcerer hat thunderclouds pursed

in the wet dreams of Cobras.

Supernovas boil like Shakespeare's ink,

singing voodoo pentameter to dust motes writhing

 on the floor of a Kansas

flower hotel.

from across the maelstrom of intellectual fevers the Devil's heart becomes a

haunted pulpit,

churning with strange lights, & the pain receptors of the Kingdom of

Jabberwocky.

The universe inverts. Caterpillars anoint themselves, cell by cell,

into Priests of the Oceanic Eardrum swooshing Rubyait's in the Electromagnetic

Rubicon of Time.

A Transylvanian supermodel howls the tetragammatron

in the ground zero of impermanently impermanent impermanence.

A trillion miles of inward ascension begins on the edge of her freckles.

Buddhist dream spelunkers unite in the Cavernous well of the Immaculate

Conception.

Freckled Nuns swoop in nude canteloupes through the Hindu supermarket of an

orphan's central nervous system.

The palm trees sway gently, echoing Brigitte Bardot's fingertips across piano

colored sidewalks

full of old men whispering the world into nothing nothing nothingness.

Nada hurls flags of Lizard Eyes into the terra incognita of her time - eating

birthmark,

and the Chapel of Peril is bathed in the Poetry of the Unknown Unknowns with

the supernal iridescence of grasshopper laughter.

***

IN the pandemonium of her fingernails,

 the traces of her laughter

boil like wild fish,   every mysterious casket of  color swirling in 

 paragraphs of the indescribable Shekinah ... 

from inside the funereal Interior; a light bulb winks.

  like the supercomputer's nightmare,

chanting  One Zero One Zero

From deep inside the convenience store,

I summon the Egyptian Goddess Isis, twisting every amino acid into a living

spiral,

 the Feather Rising against the heart of a chameleon

 through

an incubating underworld.

Polarized membranes calculate the immense blue human suffering.

Her skin turns green inside the Bar Room Window,

where Sacrilegious monsters 

cook the garden of into fevers of doubt. 

 Bluebonnet flowers are smuggled by children

  into the memory of strange old women who  gather like

family of  rattlesnakes

 on the side of the road.

until the  museum sidewalk burns with the ghost songs of troubadours.

Gently, she tattoos a poetic manifesto on the moment of my flesh. I die into her transcendental emptiness.

An unfamiliar confidante, struck by the ghastly jazz of irrational joy --- rescues my deepest ideas from the flood of future tragedies.

The shadow of a philosopher vomits the starlight of heaven  into  the inescapable

void.

One by one, the secret thoughts of the Seraphim exhale through the bones of the archetypal genius.

He works in testicle colored lightning.

She makes love to the Goddess in a syzygy of broken hearts

Her skin is trapped on trapezoidal paradoxes of light and darkness

exchanging wedding vows in a Chapel of Photons.

The nightingale flutters into a cavern of human ears. Van Gogh impales his flesh on the throne of unrequited love.

An butterfly brain trembles with earthquakes of spiritual dissonance.

Coos from doves drive the nuns into churches of laughter.  They are hysterical,

like ravens on the edge of the Ocean tide.

the tongue of God is sucking the desert dry of Prophets.

Dawn weds the key of heaven to the lock of hell.

 At midnight, Prometheus slips into the dark space between the stars.

The Song of Solomon infects her flesh with juxtapositions of love and mystery.

Cleave a stone, and the Shekinah yawns.

***

The uterus - blue ocean exhales: the teardrops of 

 the dreaming Stone,

 a trillion  fingerprints of Eden breaking into

prayers of the world, cross by cross, the infinite whirl

around the Delusion of G-d that rises into

a stratosphere of Ions,

where teardrop into teardrop churns wild Sephiroth into

the frowns of Sharks, the Smiles of Dolphins,

Anemone sitting on Gift Shop shelves where the tourists

 are dressed in white fire. 

A hurricane seed of starlit thunder

ignites like the ghost of Holy Moses,

sweeping from the troposphere in roiling convection toward the

Hotel of Lost Meaning

on the coast of Triangles Circling the Square of the Parallelogram's Lightning 

A blind cleric, paused on the edge of the thunder,

his eyes balanced in a hypnotic curl, urges the

hurricane into a ballad of exponential convections.

Tangents of whispering white waves,

unfurled like tongues into lashes of burnished ecstasy --

elope on vortices poised between the edge of the vaginal sky

and the iron heart of the sea curling earth.

The night turns tantrum,

hurling rocks into the Sky of shipwrecked phantasms

burning like the blind eyes of Orpheus buried

in the clouds at the edge of the Known

***