syntax twisting as
neurons fire in an electrochemical
sea
Nothing excites a monkey like hunger
symbols clash and transmogrify
grinning petulantly
from the depths
ignoring the proffered grapes in exchange for a taste of the real thing
spitting gravel tires spinning
sitting in a chair rocking like crazy
everything is scary once you are the connections
and he was drowning in them lightning flashing all around in his head
shooting sparks off his face that turn to spittle as they land
yeehaa jihad
it's all in your head and your head is insane
like the rest of the human race Wittgenstein chortles watching
Neitzche's
sister twirl his long extravagant mustaches No the point is both
phenomenillogical
and transexistential
It's really all in your head
Pretending you do not understand that you are a much greater master
artist
than you realize turning the grass green will not change the fact that I
refuse to attribute these misquotes to anyone other than my nervous
system
and you can quote me on that or not as you see fit
And don't worry that I've never seen a punctuation mark here are a few of
my favorites
:,,,,,:....::..-;--;"""""""""
;".,?!!!!!!!!!
.....................
my head won't fit through the door
What exact meaning derives from the term -1
how am I being negative
tension mounting behind an ever shallower grave buried in the junk yard
human fossils human relics
facade wearing thin as the wind begins blowing from behind in an
everlouder
roar drowning the sounds
the sights of human companionship
obscured as the water rises flooding the average channel changing freak
into an avid practitioner of ancient indian arts of invisibility
the ultimate camera peering into nothing
THE HORROR
ESCALATES INTO STRANGLED SCREAMS
waiting again to enter the door whose light is visible
but whose portal is around the coroner
here comes the flood
lightning flashing splintering solid objects to concepts metaphors and
analogies
an allegory develops into a myth
and mountains shrink to molehills
as the psychotropes burn their bridges before them
isolating nothing nor containing
the true meaning just more
too much more to be contained in human frame as the edges tatter and the
wind picks up
tearing
my suit gets torn
picks up too much a living tornado
a swirling vortex whose center is anything but calm
the human frame
eyes bulging lips bubbling heart bursting
breath coming in rapid gasping all the time rocking
swaying bouncing up and down holding forearms with hands or gesturing
violently
tears bursting from the eyes rimmed in red exploding in cacophonous
laughter as
the eyes
dart helplessly watching recording witnessing madness so sensible
crashing
against impossible thick masks of assumptions no longer valid
the world is insane
in our head
too small to fit inside
too large to fit through the door
too much to ask someone else to pull the trigger
or make or sell the gun at a pawn shop on airport
boulevard
in the strip mall
sometimes the woods isn't peace and quiet enough when your head screams
louder than explosives in your bed
and sleeping is out of the question
what was the question
to be or not to be
nobler to suffer the uzi's and pipebombs
of my fate
starvation degradation dehydration dissection disinterment and your own
personal apocalypse
WAKE UP
THE HORNS OF GABRIEL HAVE SOUNDED THE FIRST TRUMP
that's the 14th time I've heard that story today
get out of the car hands on the side that's right spread the legs
bring out the PawnshopGun Quartet singing in falsetto badly
'in heaven everything is fine you got your good thing and you've got
mine'
I wish we had horses to ride
and wives and mustaches
and OJ
rides the white bronco death to his own apocalypse
worshipping Kali's many arm's and giant shoeclerk and red glistening
black
daggers
And Jehovah Was A Jealous god
hubris kills only the proudest
the best and the marines slit their throats in long lines falling into
their
graves conveniently dug by themselves and save their superiors the cost
of equipping them and shipping them off to war to die
saves on body bags and fertilizer too
plant your orchard in the graveyard spelling the name of your vain and
dangerously
mad god in the trees
while anita stands legs spread and skirt up around her waste
in the orange groves screaming that the goddamn homo fags won't sodomize
her just because she has breasts and it's not fair
jacksoning her pollack
andying my warhol for fifteen minutes in front of the
TELEVISION
singing sunkist good vibrations while the sky turns orange and the
rooftops
around and above me burst into sheets of flame and streaming luminescent
bright birdfish migrating away from the new sun in the sky
green phosphors streaking vision as eyes melt back into a room on evans
dead end
deadened
cold the pain resumes
sleep will not return
tonight
and the twitching begins in my hands and the nightmares begin behind my
eyes and the end is the only thing in the sky tonight
and his head nods ion-uncontrollable assent over and over over his
leather
jacket hands clenched in the pockets he shakes and asks
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HOME TODAY?"
"I'm not sure , I couldn't tell you, you wouldn't understand
I don't think I understand it
myself...
©Gregory Lee Jones
21.Sept.94
