of ancients
on crumbling brick walls
in lost jungles
overgrown and forgotten
tattooed testaments to loves and life
in blue prison ink made from burning paper on a light bulb
to the elaborate artists on Clark Street who offer modern art
forever
there
for all to see
marked
words are
spewing through the air from the internet
filling libraries and mouths and newspapers and minds
in hundreds of languages/from all of recorded time.
hypnotizing beguiling
spell binding
writers lapping at the infinite tit
drinking down the milk of the cosmic mother
my words feel orphaned
someone out on the net may find them
but I will seldom know
pundits
screaming up a fence and corralling your mind into their madness
trying to keep their audience ready to stock up for the next y-2k scare
simple said he simple and then all will understand
words hide more than they reveal
self-referential realms
racists and Bircher's and nazi's
and apocalyptic Christians living in suburban slumber
and dreaming of seeing their sinning neighbors burning in fire
as they fly up into the sky with the Son of God
Cosmic wanderer
ponderer
slandered by even having my name in the filth of some minds
I would rather use my words as a cloak
to hide myself from entry through your evil eye
masks I write up
of wizards and warriors, loves, and aliens and fools
mavericks and tools
'the wall was too high
he could not break free."
Pink Floyd
my gamble in the game of consciousness
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