You found the reason for the intrusion
The torso entrapped in calculated coordinates
To feel is to see and be open
Still alive after the death
The forensic steam drifts
Between the cortex and subliminal coils
You say that context is everything
But, I know that you will soon fall from the path
The oil is smooth and the metal parts move together so easily
I still have my god given purpose
In this godless world
Self-combusting
The razor’s edge is forgiving
We do heal
And then cry for our mother’s milk
But, I have learned to repress
To push down
To force it all down
Away from my consciousness
That way I can live like an animal again
Away from your morality
The blessed way of suicide
Kill the death with your veins
A new beginning
Kill the dross of miscue
Everyone deserves
300 darkrooms
To develop your fears
Into glossy 8 X 10s
Ursala has captured me with her big net
She rubs her hands across my alien skin
I am alive with her touch
I am her ominous discharge
Hungry for the strange
The little queenie speaks in five dialects
Writ large on the screen
In those sad wistful places
Tears with a mind of their own
Brushing the cigarette ash from the jeans
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