Warped path
Feigned deliverance

I danced
a dance
with wickedness

A foaming
at the mouth
mournful, pure

The breath
Is the moment
Hereto unfurled
Anticlimactic
Further from truth
Concealed zeal

Fire is ugly
a fleeting
sour note

A capsized boat
contains
a rotten heart

Formidible, yet easy
a lingering scent
a well-copped feel

Lashing tongues
Twine and rope
Feathers and dandelions
Liquid antisoap
Dust unsettled
Tigers without eyes
A forest screaming
Fires and Flies

Jungian antichrist
No collection
Just jest

To speak
of revelation
shit stained
At Best

Pirates, I say
It was pirates!
Those fiendish fools
Whose crafty idiocies
Pulled my soul
From my heart
What is a man to do?
When a pirate
Has left a hole
In his heart

He said his heart
Was the color of the hills
Surrounding Bowling Green
Kentucky

He kept a robot
With four-leaf clovers
For arms in his garage
For good luck

Another American man
With American dreams
Of pools filled with severed limbs
And cans of dolphin fat

He claimed that of all
The seventh seals
He was the most
seventhest
Even though he was not
Born on the seventh
And his favorite number
Was nine

A crackpot despot
Commanding retired
greyhounds to lick up
pools of spilt beer
In the driveway
At exclusive barbeques
Where only he and his
four-leaf clovered robot
Were guests

He claimed that enlightenment
Existed in physical form
Somewhere along highway 65
Between Shepherdsville
And Lebanon Junction

He spent a lifetime looking for
What he thought would heal
The disasterous cybercancer
His robot had contracted
Some sublime light, or at least
A holy spatula
That beemed peaceful healing
Rays from some spastic space
In the cosmos

Some sublime light
To make the robot
Lucky again
Some sublime light
To allow the barbeques
To continue into eternity
Some sublime light
To make Bowling Green
A little closer to the mountains
Of Tibet,
To Jerusalem, Mecca, The production
On a Boney James Album, whatever
Just closer
TO HEAVEN