Your devils know what hour aglow laid waste the neon throes

a clacking unequivocal on leather soles did utter words of rock and roll

and Satie hammered on-avoided black keys-the missing teeth of a death ‘till dawn…rest your head, faint cowboy, I heard soft notes say

 

Bataille came to mind in Nietzschean echo of a night

The story worth a try

What theatres and its double ostensible prey

A priest and el hombre invisible

Having lunch in the nude

In a distant and divorced mouthful with nothing to say

 

the jury furious of my frequent juxtaposition-a quivering hand with trembling keys at the ignition

and how did I become the idyllic prick of linearity’s dissonance?

the immutable fable of the mutable fickled heart drones on and gone the endless sea of tall grass somewhere in Texas

Annexed nowhere without an Annabelle Lee

Sequences were sequestered as my affinity for blasphemy did fester

But alas

I shall ask the skies not mind the laughs

That guide the way to disobey; O sin why did thou beckon me at birth

 

I shan’t beg the mouth agape of your cosmic ethereal grave with its countless blinking eyes a seduction of a lulling and a vacuuming orgasming in disguise-hell is angels

I have recently run out unashamedly of pride

 

And I beheld the dwell of burning tears upon my sighs-of delight…of horror for the phantoms that shuffle in my bed

I should’ve heard the warning of a lack of pity and discerning in the streets of California

The cracking on the mirror did turn my fears to jubilance

And predicted the longing of a mortal’s dread for I was not coming for ya

 

Let me no longer interrupt the accoutrement that pressed its heel upon my chest

A chant like breaking cement; an array of empty bottles of booze bottles of booze on the wall

Shattered and scattered

Myself atop an appaloos

Upon a mountain range

I fancy you fancying me if even just in thought, ma’m

And yes, sir-you did take what almost made me break

 

 

I choose to midnight ride

Despite a broken back

In spite the ticking

Of your time

 

You toil on their symphonies while I shift my gears to Patsy Cline

 

∞