from a lost suitcase...

my mind reached out and snagged
the whip of blades in watery windmills

from a crown royal purple burp
and turned over the edge of sleep.
you woke in suede sighs,
when the whole of the sky cracked,
(or the ceiling fan was vibrating too much)
velvet pieces fell in separate nights, face was set still.
a portrait in waving panes,
the ripple beneath
the crater of your vision moved in a fit
of morning after fuckery coughing.
this is the last thing i heard before the fade.
and its a bloom of classical music
falling through the clutch of gusts
caress of liberation. no no no its not the same thing
as the persistent hiccupping pluck of a sixth string

a blue hued soundtrack;
my moods tripping daisies
with bruised hearts past,
and there comes my hand from the earth.
my parents walk
through the window of your eyes.
you deliver me the last rattle
in the chain of a dying continuim.
they raise up into the shadows of my steps
walking the wake in the wash
of trailing in the wind of apple blossom,
lilac blanket lining the cradle
of home lost
and so carefully found
in bare threads fluttering from tree limbs.
if i turn the sky my way,
it'll be that nostalgic tornado that carries
the final rythym of our tighten up away,
and it'll blow that tapestry all to hell

cold breeze making stuttered love
rides a watery current and tongues the panes
to glide up on sketcky lubrication.
wraps my arms poetic, or not.
the justice of a deep kiss laughs at the
injustice of the stain bedded into
rainbows on alabaster thighs,
the smiling tear tinting the colours angry

open your mouth.
let me climb in.
i want to etch the backs of your teeth with mine.
carve my intitials
in voodoo ink from talking snakes,
the bastards that ride my calves tight.
soak my toes, my soles,
into the salt sweet salvia river moving
that is your fancy tongue
run the whole of me into your frightened throat,
elixir borrowed from a gypsy cart
a thirst for the wine slamming the floor
of your tipsy gut.

i sit here,
wondering what it is i should be doing.
what i am not supposed to want.
if it never matters after the after
what fucking difference does indifference make?
everyone of us with sideways feet
fall through the cracks we stomped
into our gawdforsaken floors.
we are traversing the hungry gullet
of something emaciated but foolishly revered.
if there is a price
i dont want to be a regurgitated afterthought
spit out into the mix of minds
i need to keep me and my light
somewhere woven through the whole
i want to be the fucking meal that exhausts you, boy...

i am the foggy shadow pushing shapes out
against the wall of womb we roll around in.
smoke of minds tripping
and the spiral walking the jamb of cool morning,
when the sun cocks out the strongest wants
the cure of listening,
steps from the fat of my lip.

speed and heat of the last time
i heard the thump
the beat torn right through
the pause between hot shots of blood
its the electric in the air
riffing the shapes of your bone.

i want this.
i want the illusion,
i want the lie for a minute.
i want the smash and stick of it all.
i'm hungry.