The thing is
to try not to think and just say and sing words
to my self at this moment in time,
like a rhythm, like a beat in my mind.
I can think of things that do what they want to with me
inside the time signatures. Signatures on my eyeballs.
Eyelids are umbrellicles.
I can find the scene that I wrote on a napkin
in Hollywoodtown. My mind was a rapper that flew across Michigan once,
and he wrote his name on the airplane window in cursive, and he made
all the passengers sing a song that they liked to remember when they got so old
and sittin' on the edge of a pond. Their butts get wet from the tidal flows,
flowing out of their holes, their holes. They were so old they couldn't remember
who they are. What are their names? What are their faces? Their skin drips down to the Earth
like pork filling inside a tamal. No one else can dream like a Somali man
diggin' a hole at the bottom of the Arabian sea, the Gulf.
Underneath Iraq I pulled a skull made of solid gold and I stuck it inside my skull.
I probably missed out on a college experience. A high school woman
came to my house. She slapped my face with her lovely flat face.
My name came down from the sky like Jesus the Christ.
I made a mistake once and I made it again twice.
Some one make my face like a shingle poore boy.
She broke it, cus she was a roofer and she forgot to put her kneepads on her knees.
I float to the inside of my tooth. It's made of marzipan and lard from a dead calf.
They all were ground up in the Wash of 1933.
He came back to my old mouth. His name was Jesus and he had long history
of fellating the dreams of younger children. They watch the time blow up like a crime
scene that John Grisham wrote on his forehead with a candelabra made of blood
and vampire bats.
I wanted to sing about the leaves that fell on to my eyeballs.
I wish we could find some one else's mind all over the road and the street that I live on.
I have one minute left to make you my friend forever.
Most of the things that can be thought will only stick out of the
space-time fabric like a clot in the tongue of resistance.
Give me my pension now!
I was about to bake myself inside of a human cow.
I wish we were looking out at the Sun, but we are facing East
and it's 5:23 p.m.
I am still awake.
The night has become the slake
of my thirst.
Happiness will extrude my personal dignity.
My deity is integrity itself.
Happy to know you. Glad to see you. Tell the People that I was Here passing the
https://youtu.be/DhM0ItjifvI
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