The Magical Headache

the space ain’t mine
the space-age rind
you were in the dream
wearing some strange blue pants

in the Play Dome
please-a-saurus

kind of like bewildering oneself
too shy to Heart
to hear dripping

skuzzy beneath pantaloons
you already have that part covered

which anchors as well as
sings it’s name to drug dealers

we are out back of this
in carts downstole wholesale
explaining minks to pardonable succlusion

writing the pot odes
I flesh colorfully
linking oafish cormorants to
the will of the people
illustrated through blended
French Vanilla play-things
pardonable offences many
3-syllabled words make us sanguine
and ready to be fucked

The Ape Consciousness on the
radio knows this
To disinstall it’s image from
the landing gear we try being nice
then if that doesn’t work

the alchoholic refreshments arrive

tugging the skies that build us
rodeo fragments

in the Blizzard cop-to
ranging over many helipads
like dogs marking their territory

cards protect us from our feelings
dazzling all over wendy filmic
getting glossary contact from
fibro mialga speech patterns

Could you hide something?
here put this down your vocals
I smuggled in a little skepticism

_____

The Conscience Of The Race

Theology wedded to itself is happily
some Taco Bell trickery

this is the simulation of events
that would happen were it the bloody case

That we are fat and alone
in post-industrial nightmare

I cheat to get back to safe
Hey No Fair on Sirius

Seriously we’re patrolling some
dirty waters, organising

the fat black night
into faltering pairs of
rummage sale tagged flow

could you borrow this forever please?