.: On the Event Horizon, a UFO...

the question ---

weaved a verb of imaginary flesh,

wild in the stars, a celestial caravanserai of whirling whispers,

meteoric ellipses, curves and syllogisms, wandering the night sky in umbrellas

of light, every point of light an alphabet of unfathomably wild origins,

vowels and quasars, adjectives like galaxies swarming above the blue green field

of memory, every atom in the Sky chanting with the

reverse osmosis of Lunacy, the wild abandon of unborn beings

to the womb of the

Creatrix.

Aeons and aeons of transmogrification,

molecule by molecule,

the thunder of mathematics became like a woman's voice, rising up, undead

from the cold grave

Newton's figure ground reversal,

the moment the mandelbrot enters the stage :

to dream, perchance to sleep.

It was

subtle, grandiose, bizarre. this perpetual transmogrification in the Empty TOmb of

G-ds heart. It was Lead to Gold. Love to Pain.

Night to day. Water to wine. POint to Line.

every word, whispered in that symbiotic candelaria shined

like liquid diamonds,

doremifasolatido ---

racing into the jeweled earth in rivulets as if each moment was a Mapping of the

primordial mystery.

and then in that fabled instant:

Her pulse,

the faint echolocating signal of life after life, was tuned to some fractal anomaly:

beyond human, an electromagnetic shimmering,

bioluminescent in a wave cresting on the edge of her moonlit bones --- racing with every new delirium

of the Afterlife.

She is resurrected, a twice - living being, once dead now alive.

Negative entropy. The ghost of all Uncreated Beings

a savant, coursing through the subatomic structure of the Unfinished Everything:

with new Eyes,

the spooky action at a distance:

the Flesh, the Mathematical Equation, the Crown of Fractal Apparitions,

the Nexus.

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