Poetry

You know, man
The writing keeps on going
From the Ginsberg collective
To the transient collective through which this is flowing
And manifesting, or womanifesting for those of you so inclined, as a droplet of neon dew upon some eyes

As a wave of cresting foam
Dashing over the orange sky
The purple sunset
Where the chariots dance
And the dolphins laugh mad
The end is pure insanity
A checkpoint, a mere place from which consciousness may swim
Snorkel amongst the reefs of tragedy
Meloncholy and stagnant
As is the world as is the world

Uncesonred hypocrite come forth from the rusty lair
Upon which you hang
Like a bat clinging to the dew formations from the icy cave

And LOGIC

The breath of which consumes hour upon hour upon hour of rustic research
Delving deeper and deeper into the monster gut
In which we lay 

A primary attempt to never end
Creativitiy comes dragging on behind me as I launch forward into the starry night of dreams
Of freight train saints sitting silent
Of virgin whores
And free junkies
Of businessmen to poor to go to work
And the daughters earning no living
But embracing LOVE
Being Life itself
These dreams, oh these fucking dreams eat me away until they consume all and are still hungry
And spread
Spread into this rustic world
Of death
Of gray spatter leaning hopelessly in reflection

To never stop
To never reflect

The shattered mirror
The sober high
The nights of marijuana love
Where minds fuck and
Transcend

Completion upon the Norwegian horizon
Mountains of avalanche
Hills of snow for the seals of yesterday to play
At long last there is Love
And all there is is the intervention

Its idle worship, the Love of the stagnant
Illusory divine
For the eternal dynamic is the crying sparrow
The red night
The Rainbow Road