manifesto

if you scream i won’t feel it
even if you forget the shards of glass in your feet
nights washed on fields of carcasses
blue corpses in hellishly white automobiles
bedrooms and bars filling up with decayed and rotting flesh

what perfume could remember all that
as if any of us could swing the axe
so that there is no neck left connected
by bloody veins and torn skin 

don’t just stand there smoke-eyed and dream tapping rocks
gray karma dripping yellow hairs
like the sun and a yellow sunrise
or a comet blazing across the mirror
brilliantly blinding my glass eye
which couldn’t see anything to begin with
as if an eclipse were to flash out
over the horizon
a small dot
then it’s over
like a bomb going off in a church

watching fire engines fly by with men yelling
to get into flying saucers
as if that could solve all our problems 

but nihilist toilet bowls flush easily
and dreamers go to bed knowing they will wake up
and go to work with pants unzipped like fish-eyed crowds of monarchs
closing in
spiders hanging in the soft flesh pierced by a toothpick

splintering it goes into the eye through the nose bleeding
into the mouth through your tongue piercing as if blood
could flow more freely
than the mind if blocked right
fins like fetishes fettered in corn blood
cherry-colored faces in yellow light
without bodies who devoured their own bodies

i would recommend against the corners of the round earth
where i
prick my finger on the edge

so i walked on and saw
a rectangle full of lambs who tell me not to worry
about meaning
it will be there when i don’t need it as the terrified faces float
through walls through threads hanging from spiders through
redbrick buildings through air filled with car fumes

in the dim light of orange ice cubes
the words become satanic tearing away at my mind
the voices have names now
smoke-filled and serpents screaming green
in dreams of telephones and shriveled chilies
waiting for the pick to fall
through their dried up roots

if you knew there were skeletons of screams outside
would you sit in the dark with a room full of pisscups
glowing like the rings of saturn

so you can go ahead and tell me about infinity and money
and how they speak to you through god as if you could
send away the magician telling you which door to choose 

the smoke of angels singing praises
to the blue-eyed pillows of angry fluff
fills my head with floating disembodied hands
in a closet melting into mirrors of crystal

through the mirror cracked and bleeding
the scream brushes by like a knife 

if i get one of the slivers in my hand
blood will spurt out like a glorious fountain
so if you press your sweaty hand to mine i won’t mind
as long as i can keep near the top of the shattered mirror