psylocibin visions of the gustapo 


      Side eyed Sillohettes


   amber angels weeping


Broken hour glass, the sand is deafening


Old age wombs never healing


Rock n roll on stone radios


The jukebox is burning


Jimmy Reed is howling



She's a Biblical ghost 



The rains washing away the memory of seasons & sorrow


black charcoal cigarettes lit on toasters and stove tops and occasional match or broken lighter with broken fingers 



typewriters are all lost in manic void, where is the Xanax



my mirror is a liar, I'm disfigured & brainless


sungazers with delusions of presidential masscures


The 60s and atomic energy


My eyes are bleeding


Restless relapse while the madhouse is convulsing 


My engines burnt out and so am I



Heavenly silks seem simple


I lived in Brooklyn with the holy ghost


The apartment turned into Alcatraz 


Voodoo in the basement 



The windows are laughing & Aphrodite is naked on the floor


I became Enoch's hermetic thoughts


 I'm the 7th from Adam 



Revelations inside the cathedral's blackened tecture



The candles placement was a sign from the reaper


This bar is cursed 


Accidental pentagram during drunken bar hop



The black birds are speaking to me in tongues 


I played chess alone and drank whiskey for comfort


magnetic serophim statue is the apple of my sleepless eyes


I was never interested, well versed in cursive verses 


I seen serpants in the bookstore


I asked questions like a monk on a briefcase



I preached to the wind & deserved a psyche ward


how long was I in the rabbit hole



Flashes of sheer terror 



I got lost in a forest in Washington, My delusions lead me in circles. Worried about the secret service like a lunatic 



I indeed did walk in the valley of the shadow of death 



Lucifer played his music in a miserable mist


I Rose from the dead and I used poetry to mask my illness



Chain smoking, visions of kerouacs hang up


I woke up feeling whole again, how long will this last



































Author's Notes/Comments: 

Stole some words from some of my previous poems. Lazy with my writing at times. Been a rough few months. Felt good to write something again.

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allets's picture

A Multitude Of Sutras


voodoo basemented -- I think I lived there once. Time obscures in that rabbit hole huh? Fine write - will read you. ~S~



lyrycsyntyme's picture

Something about this has me

Something about this has me feeling as if Bob Dylan, Don McLain, and Bruce Springstein circa Blinded By The Light all had a love child together on your piece of paper. I say that not to short change you at all. Whose ever love child this poem may be, you lit the candles, you set the mood, and you were the matchmaker.


My favorite line: "the sand is deafening". I could hear it the moment I read it.