Severed Head Exhilaration Blues

11 Jul

Trying to put myself
together
like calendars
and sex-
listening to the
songs of fallen
leaves-
the beginning of
the symphony of
ice
white flower
blossom snow.
Skycandles explode
in my head.

In her hand
she holds a bag
of smokedance.
I want to say
no, teeth
pressed
together
fighting with
the words.

She sits there
and stares
her body
beckoning to me
silently
like deadriver
lights, that
smile
full of hiding
breathless
whispers.

No one really
knows but try
to understand
she is the
goddess of
sunny sleaze,
and it is her
sweet wet
blossom
season.

I am ripped
up by
her
magic
wild red
laughter
which
begins the
dirge.

All the towns
have their
hands pointing
towards
doomdrowning
in liquid
cemeteries.

I fall into
purple
fairy slumber
dreaming of
buried flowers
a firebomb
somnambulist.

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