insect orchids

Undulated movement, dilated spirals of stem-wire, I feel like I contaminate things, the lettuce slick with ghost fingerprints and untroubled paint-pixels. Frost on the allergic tomatoes, schizophrenic woolen writing, parallel bus stops and onyx benches drenched with breathless rain as an upside down heaven drops flowering bombs, an unbroken calm and destroyed beauty, impaled martyr's perishing like petals embedded in a lattice lath, criss-crossed frame-work of hot woven-wax.

Unhappy unfiltered outlines, navigating each labyrinth and fogged artery, A giant leopard moth cloudy with charcoal bristles, the ant-hills scattered with weathered scorched maps and gentle creatures on the stark walk-way, volcanic lava thistle and black snails on the chalk-clay.

Curled floor gardens sprinkled with damp dead leaves, bitter-brown dead coins and bronze dead cedar stumps stuck with ink-pen orchids, daytime orchids and yellow-gray orchid pollen polluting the canary canals and avenues of arch-way art-work structures, orchids flat with emotion, teary orchids, tired orchids, old archaic antique ugly expressionless orchids, all these rotten falling orchids, the dream-life of drowsy orchids.

painting rancor

I'm sick of color, stolen grays into another view, each horizon burnt and bleeding into the kaleidoscope iris of every liar, fraudulent cheeks of slithering snakes and venomous milk cartons, bowls of split oranges and toxic religions, lavender licorice and lackadaisical leopards, red and yellow candy wrappers, most of you suck nothing but giant purple dick. Black and blue gums, icy throats swallowing your fathers, your friends and co-workers when your husbands aren't around, bashful tyranny, blushing brittle bellied brides and embittered fingers battered by the morning bombs exploding all over this robotic blog, my balls on your chin.

I want to paint all of you, your mixtures and significant others, your cindering scape's of bright-white golden sun-showers and contaminated cathedrals, heart-stems skyward, I want mine to break the ceiling, rubbed raw and lemony trails splattered with safari sway-petals, this elephant trunk hard as jail bars and enough for all of you, your abrupt faces dripping with loveless delight, your vicious pointing and hypocritical gestures from afar, glued african violets blooming like praying flowerbeds after a tornadic rain spike, bullet holes, my sadness smothering you with my sticky animus, filling your open holes, my sweet nectar and veiled ribbons of swan-like rain sang.

cohiba

Tendrils of smoke, gray haze communist Cohiba, this old rotten porch facing south, pristine breeze and flying flowers, speckled orange and heavily dotted with diamond dust, the molding stables and pasture drench, the sweet fat rolling hills, deeply bruised green and shades of pine bark, blankets of burnt red clay, a dour briar fence and tired tire garden full of banana spiders, broken barn windows and a good news bee all go sailing by, yellow and black, poison factory.

Sirens and it's like the city, endless array of bombed buildings and melted sunlight orchards of people, vast colors and somber faces, crude languages and bright fabric, funerals of busted grapes, sky-line ramparts of apple barrels, gawking dragons and chrome shrapnel, a wreck on the bridge, they get tangled in the rails, coins on the asphalt, pieces of glass from the detached windshields glitter like a soothsayer's teeth, the boats look like sugary gum drops skipping like frogs on the water. The puddles are like slimy lily pads, buzzing helicopters and more sirens, mosquito's swollen with blood, the medical parachutes and frenzied yelp of the dying embers, the ash is well over two inches, that's a sign of an exquisite cigar, a premium that costs about 20 dollars a stick thanks to that little czarist island called Cuba.

sunkist orange soda

I like living under an irradiated sky, these grotesque bodies all bobbing like weird buoys in my cove, the scavengers collect the eyes and ink-stained fingertips of a playful tsunami. Floating fish and sunken bridges, no more speeding metallic boxes encased in glass, I miss the car wrecks that changed my life, windshields exploding and people spilled onto a busy highway. The buildings watched like sad sentinels casting shadows like the light through a fence in a prison yard. It was certainly memorable to see them continually ran over, bending and shaping into strange spirals, arms and legs torn and strewn like broken sticks, an empty torso, a dazzle and perfectly executed pirouette, a crimson ribbon from a ballerina, a small shoe with a foot in it.

I like war, sniper shots from a thousand yards away, splitting heads like Taras Bulba, I don't mind open caskets, glowing children and one-legged dogs crawling to the middle of the freeway, I have slept there, the cement is warm at night, I'm glad real authors kill themselves, there is art in that, a shotgun for Hemingway, cocaine for Dostoevsky and his hemorrhaging lung, Nietzsche's marijuana fields and Kafka's fuck toys, Gogol's schizophrenic sunlight and the slow waltz of Cormac's necrophilia, Poe's malformed water head and blankets of ice for Jim Carroll and the hungry hole in his arm where all his money went.

Worries and fraudulent friends, the faggotry of Shakespeare and baroque romance, there is beauty in having a cold in your soul that never goes away, my junkie brother slamming his head against a brick wall, shooting smack and how the insecure female cactus glow golden with the dusk, the bluff and the bloated hive of niggers, boy is heroin, girl is coke and tina is methamphetamine, what you want is chinese white, 10 dollars a bag and 3 dollars a rig, if it's pure, Wally says you just pull water through the plunger, shake it and it's good to go, it's good to pop, it's heaven to mainline as the flashing lights and sirens start to reverberate your infected head-space, the slick and slimy wet asphalt of a greasy gas station parking lot, the streaming squadrons of cockroaches and gum on the sidewalk.

Too bad we haven't had a plague in a few days, a rupturing mountain and valley of living dolls, only illegal mexicans chocked full of green cigars, they are called candela's in an aficionado's world of bleak smoke and street-walking insanity, drug mules and chrome rims, police brutality and copper thieves. I'm hopeful there'll be a rampage shooting , assassinated kittens and lust for money, more gang violence and robberies, toothless meth addicts stealing commercial air-condition units, they work hard enough to be compensated, someone should tell them having an actual job is almost the same thing as the 9 hrs. it takes to surgically remove the bolts and wire. My aged work boots and dying flowers on the porch, I'm glad we are all spiders in a glass jar, we're being poisoned, racist tongues and how absolutely nothing bothers me now, newborn lightly blue babies in the dumpster, motherless, fatherless blots of rotten pumice, whores and john's in dirty bathroom stalls, gut-shot deer and cisterns of black syrup, I like it, I'm glad the world is ending and I finally found love at the end of it, I'm happy, let it end.

sap

Slow going like a tangled inch worm in this vital mushroom patch, an upside down ceiling of brightly colored fungus and jet black soil, oblong unhappy umbrella's and verily dotted yellow shoulder blades. Broken twigs and slimy insect torso's, a freshly dropped caramel candy shell, a discarded wrapper strewn among the living floor of this prismatic forest, my pale green abdomen is apple dappled with tender wood shavings and bitter debris. Chalky taste in my microscopic mouth, curls of goblin fingered blood-roots and browned rotten lettuce, my insecure oval eyes setting like sun-crickets, particles of birch sand and a battalion of legionnaire ants guard a gutted tree stump.

Tiny crimson armies and squadrons of angry black flies, the severed sticky strings of royal cone snails and abstract pitcher plants, hanging nightfall orchids and the flowered contrast of strawberry bruises below my insomniac pollen, my darkened onyx horizon and orange halo hue exploding in thick gushes of walking antennae and bare dirt littered with speckled lime moth. The rain is in heavy cold droplets, shattered cobalt spheres in this woodland spring-globe, early morning thunder and the unbroken calm of ink spiders. I crawl over the endless scalpels and remaining sharp bristles of destroyed paint brushes, I methodically navigate the punctured membranes of the chewed ghost petals; the crisp charred branches and burnt fence nails until my thin velvet belly is ruptured from the carnivorous traps and my precious inside amber liquid pours out in ugly clotting gluts on the dank leaves and unloved maze of wet pine straw.

sweet-gum

I watch the slopes, each stone-slate roof grayed with heavy blotted rain. The fantastically poor cathedrals and fountains of bare-bright wishes, coppery reflections and busted grapes. Eternal tire gardens and the endless stream of flags on the bridge.

This movement, deeply penetrating as the bombs start to fall, camouflaged whores on patrol, the dirty knees and embracing foam, lusterless glimmers on the gummy sidewalk, I like to watch the buildings topple, the rainbow-ed umbrella's shrouding thoughtful rubble and sincere ruin of an irradiated glassy goblet of wasteland breathing, crushed glass and shards of bitter nectar; completely precious and untroubled joys spark timber colored fields and teeth gnashing apple orchards, open legged cemeteries and squadrons of playful fireflies, they look like tiny flying flashlights on the blink, the last remnants of a dying battery, microscopic beserk appliances in a funnel cloud of yellowed festive lights.

My brittle pale arms spread out like a cross, this infected demons delight, a cleansing bloodstain on my chest, the torn fabric and grim imprint of my detached soul, the lifeless and unwanted ghosts, kissed twice. I run my mangled hand over the rafters, I chew each petal and scribble dashes of mournful words on smooth scraps of papery birch.

I feel like rusty metal buckets of soaking leaves under the sweet-gum trees, a tired author bedraggled and enduring loneliness as the clouds bludgeon and bruise badly this sickly skyline masterpiece of torment and waiting.

Sour yellow lemons and peppermint tea, Sunday kittens and colorless, motherless, fatherless blots of disastrous pumice and acorns scattered like aging kidney stones, tangles of English ivy and red-orange moss ablaze.

Pine straw and flaps of skinned emerald metallic bark, wet cedar shavings and rotten stables blest with filtered light, gluttonous puddles littered with the stolen pennies from heaven, fat tank battalions of army turtles and paint horses frozen in still-life poses, discarded portraits and timeless illusions, subtle farm animals and passive pillows of storied shoreline rock.

The agonized creak of a forgotten porch swing sounds like an old boat tied to a southern dock, a venetian carousel and more vibrant horses running like thunder, the leaden gallop in loud terrible gushes, the feverish rush and sway of unfolding arms, the thinly etched black lines on the stormy horizon, the slender sleek sweet curl of you and with my watchful wild eyes I stare at the melancholy telephone wires.

shan

I have a mechanical smile, flowering cherry-lime trees and lavender ink balm slithering in slick envelopes like a lepers skin. Crushed pebbles and oily anecdotes. So much has changed, no longer a narcotic sky overhead blazing and blistering the living countryside with blueberry OxyContin clouds and consumptive heroin addicts in the drench. Strewn like cruel sticks, unwanted and unkissed unloved skeletons, wild eyes, cow eyes gushing and opalescent cranberry canals, tomato torches lit and burnt into ordinary eyes, sad eyes and caustic sunlight solarium's, a smooth  metal rail and hanging bowls of milk plants, Persian Brown orchid spiders and the slow waltz of you and I, your warm wetness and trembles of fingers unlocked, your precious lips and melodic voice, the faded green tile and how the antique wood on the balcony curls badly with the rain, curls like your toes and humming mouth, the murmurs of bleak hospital hallways; oceans of toxic clorox through the cracked windows and inside orchards, the vegetable gardens and sodden mahogany writing tablet, the pristine searing packages and dampening dust ; yet another lifeless pen taken from a glass jar, miles and miles of strawberry smiles, writing again like a broken heart, broken junky teeth and broken breathing, how I drizzle on this beloved balustrade, how I continually make bleary ink blots your pretty eyes will read, you have pretty eyes, the most beautiful eyes.