storming the beaches...storming the beaches of my normandyleaving lasting impressionslike a dorothy-whirlwindtaking wichita with it.give me that clear-cutmonochrome agricultureinstead of these poppy-induced technicolors.where daffodil-delightsspeak to me and conflictserupt over synaptic boundrieslike world wars,amassing their armiesat the front line.three words burning likenapalm on metropolis canopieswith the beaches of my normandyreflecting photon emissionson the solar winds of love.the brillant blast deafensthe world and yet the silenceis never replaced, justwhite noise in the backgroundhumming vacuum-death dirgesfor fallen souls and victimsof love's combative tactics.ammunition for the heart,or, more like the ego for somewhen emotions are measured in calibers.forced to constantly hear,'my bomb's better than yours.'she is the one, that revealingradioactive pulse pullingme into her loving embrace,a place i've never beenand suddenly i can't feel my hands.illus
drowning darwindrowning darwin - and the great hand seeks another evoluntionary step / dead end.6 minutes to decide to live or diethe serial killer staring contestwith the canvas soul centerfoldtreading water and hard line lithiumto sedate the magnificent malevolence of man.seven finger senses - the other threeset to roman numerals like the handsof moths selling advertismentsburning under the ultra-violent sun.writing down fiction for order and policy(now we call citizens: hostages)for reactionary physics / push - pulland the Books are out of date as soon as the covers are closed.these white teeth shining death dealingdarkness and the destruction of anothermetropolitan commercial when the director yells, 'cut!'
afternoon gardenafternoon gardendandelion safarisex and the sunken atlantissurfacing in paper cups.breathing like fishfrom sunrise.copius,exagerrated,masoleums with 'now open' signs.(the man who keeps the press moist)mouth to mouth,cavern nocturnalneglige falling to the floor,tulips for tomorrowwhen walruses sell tusks for tuesday.conversations like wind chimesspeaking melodies,making beautiful music.
infiltrationinfiltration.khyber pass passengersmirrored razors for eye socketscutting us;letting our strings dangle down.ripcords callingin a suit and tie.button-down discoursefingers folding handstongue topographytravelling toward tomorrow.left yesterdayfor better visions of futuresamong lightning storm suggestionsfalling to the wall(suitcases for lifes untl the closing bell rings)'is that lipstick or blood?'a fire-setting arsonista memory burning in bedsa battle for families without the red tapewhen eyes closeyou're motion capture for intimacy,every movement recorded in dreams.