Old Skin

WE smoke the toenails and hair



of the wiseman

under a BLACKGOD's thumb

we dance like painted puppets

she bleeds orgasm in techni-color

an ocean of alien mystery

we eat the wiseman's eyes

for sight that we might

see the darkness if we kill

the lights fast enough

we eat the brain and pray

that our eyes can open wide enough

we burn the dry shell, a funeral chant

the pulse quickens and we dance

as the blossoms fall

a scattering of dust to the winds

this celebration of old skin

I feel every flower that is

screaming to consume you

the earth and sky your cradle

the earth and sky entomb you

so is the way of forever

teeming with simple cruelties

beatings in cold rooms

hands and head not found






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