God forgave wars as atomless senses combined. Eden itself will be toast if we don’t obey its tethers. Her form perspires like the weather of my mind. In tomorrow’s tumult your soles tread on forevers. Beaches burn, leeches to bleach, a cyclical repeat. But conquests complete, I convalesce at her feet. Saved by her sacred touch, naked we were a geek. She blossomed like two-lips and I ate it on the loo. Enslaved by double Dutch, hatred also has mystique. I’ll give you true love: I used to live for torture too. Past the dance of chance’s maker, I cast my shadow. The truth is that hate prevails where love is shallow. Somehow it feels like it happened to another again. She mutters & I stutter like the advent of consent. Why beat about the bush? She pushed me at ten to five. I remember the weep-love of my first & last ascent. Armies of adolescents jump into a secret forest. And bands of ink pelicans tell fables on your wrist. Inside the ride resides a bride who claims to be famous. She dances to the Temptations so aimless and shameless. Your eyes are tied to the bribe, but you remain blameless. During the snide depths of ecstasy, she'll become nameless. Past the rain dance of the maker, demons blast their scores. But you've got to love her in your own way for she is yours.   I've won that which hasn't stayed; I've lost what I haven't given away. I prefer milkshakes to jewels anyway, but Eden's grace reigns true as cliché. Today the boss is dressed in a suit of grey, Marvin Gaye glasses & a Bombay beret. I hear him say in the hallway at the buffet that we too must stay for the cabaret. But a concluding sense of circularity is pure at the conception of his remarks. & backwards we dart into the mirror's art, heralded by a dog's heaven-sent barks.

Ain’t it just our shoddy luck to be stuck in one crappy body when we could be oddly happy in another?! If you discover the sleazy city of spirits in the centre of the world, please promise me you won’t tell Big Brother. Every kiss in that abyss is elephant-bliss and it’s there one uncovers God is the son of Satan’s part-time lover. The Earth’s core is at war with itself, and they say God started it by tampering with the farts of your mother. Hundreds of heads invaded my heart on Superbowl Sunday. I traded belief in a dead deity for reefer and a soul on Monday. If either of us should leave, the other would be crazy to stay. I worked this hard when I was young so I could be this lazy one day. Whatever the present comprises, it’s an atom of forever. For twice the price of Paradise, you can fly like the weather. The government bought a law against draw, but we scored hench fries and French highs from Kevin’s Pies. Together we fought a war against sleep with the breathless parakeet Queen and her seventeen butterflies. I thought I saw the meaning of death scrawled obscenely small on the wall between Heaven’s gleaming eyes. Isabel smelt swell as a rebel then, and I fell under her spell again as plasticine thunder flowered at sunrise. Mona Lisa weeps for freedom as her heart sleeps frozen in painted slime. See the guards feed Mona Lisa pizza drenched in French prose and saintly lime. Nothing does everything at once because everything’s the opposite of time. Your destiny awaits you à la Seine, where the bells of liberty chime. Another long day defeated; another song half-completed. For twice the price of Paradise, the past can be repeated. Now reddened rain leaps onto dead-end streets, and a clockwork centaur in paradoxical sleep dreams of dinosaurs. Female mail men eat nuclear snails and secrete microbe priests who feast on the bacterial spores of giant Labradors. When he burns his daughter or returns from the water, Christ shall be uncrucified and there will be no more wars. I had my sordid afternoon many moons away from today, and soon as now somehow I trust you must too have yours. “The only moment worth having,” your friend sensuously breathes, “is one that you can readily repeat.” Expect the head of your affection to meet a perfect defeat soon as she encloses your love in her moon-angel-feet. Downstairs on the streets, an orphan soldier swears that God above is older than forever yet even more obsolete. You never supposed you’d sever your grip on the past, yet at last the present feels pleasantly complete. Nothing is only an illusory goal, and so is the semblance of control. But the rose-tinted lover that led you to bed still has a mole. And the prose of the dead mother in your head still has a soul. And a whole shoal of tadpoles still stroll round your fishbowl. For twice the price of Paradise, you can fly like the fucking weather. For twice the price of Paradise, you can be stuck here forever. The laughing cow teaches the art of salvation to the heart of each nation with her drum now. The laughing cow topples your golden house of crumbs like a needle to the tongue now. The laughing cow tells the story of how purgatory freed her, yet she longs for the numb now. One hand needs hers, nothing eats her, and her soul speedily leaps up to the sun now. Insanity is the profanity of the hidden soul I could not hide. My patient suicide is inscribed upon my limping stride. Because I forgot that you lied, the angles of your angels were my guide. Because my future seemed shot, my egoic dreams slowly rotted and died. For twice the price of Paradise, you can do pretty much whatever. If you don’t know why it’s “do or die”, you should try getting leathered. For twice the price of Paradise, the past can live forever. If you don’t know why it’s “do or die”, try “now or never”.

I smoked your moon-kissed lips and déjà vu soon drew a purple circus round the clown of purpose like a bike on the hook of a black hole.  You woke me before chords of the forest soared into the town of sound where it is true that you can sue whomever shook your shackled soul.  After karma’s barter in the womb halved the laughter of Gaea, I wept in contempt of court and dreamt I was bought like a crook on parole.  I stayed in their cellar, a maid and a beggar, with only one stellar sweater and a cooking book that I’m afraid to tell ya I took or stole.  But I’ve got some simple words you never hear.  A man is lucky if they ever near his ears. If I were you, then I would be you. But since I am me, I am me. That’s why we’re two and we’re free to be free.  Mary mixes the karma potion, her schizophrenia still in motion, and Christ waltzes on water, causing quite the commotion in the sea of Galilee.  I tasted his devotion with hasty emotion; it was sorta artful and heartful, not far from water where the leveed sea breaks through into the city.  I met her in a daydream; why get disturbed anyway? At the end of the day it seems you go back all the way in the reset of the nitty gritty.  We rode a pony thru the desert and arrived at the brook. the ceremony took ten terse minutes I never forsook; I’d still love you infinitely less pretty.  But I’ve got some simple words you never hear  A man is lucky if they ever near his ears. If I were you, then I would be you. But since I am me, I am me. That’s why we’re two and we’re free to be free.  I suppose where I once scorned, I could now offer a hand.  Every rose bears a thorn, but I was reborn a stronger man.  If only you had stayed, I’d have sworn my life on our plan. 

Respite from the blue moon; The night comes too soon. The bright young pretty stoners sing to their own gritty tune. Escape the caped ape; Gape at the shape of rape. God tapes human mistakes; she wakes to ache; you wake to ruin. Suicide of dried pride: I hide inside the guide. The flower is our power: you cried, I died, we tied. Salvation ain't plenty But damnation ain't empty Sensation-free at twenty-seven! Hefty temptation of trendy heaven! You… what’s your story? Think about it. Forgetting is what friends tend to do; I bet I’ll sing at the sunset end for you. The better the wetter when it’s three fools and two points of view. A lonely clown in discount drag Learns to count then burns a flag. Now the only madman in town crowns the sound where he drowned in blue. Real lust is trust: you’re bust if you don’t know it. Hear the poet in the thrust of the gust just below it. Truth can be self-defeating And youth can be so fleeting. The tooth of Ruth Repeats its eating You… what’s your story? Think about it.

Shawls tight around our necks, tonight we are alone. Let’s fall lightly into dream and find the unknown. I love you for what you are but can’t hide what I am. If you don’t like me, let’s call it off and I’ll scram. Now the town is blazing with the circus song. You understood every word you heard all along. Forget the rest but don’t forsake the hollow cup. We all try our best just to make tomorrow up. I walked through your tall & sweet brown gypsy fire. Talking openly about nothing makes anyone a liar. Yes, at dawn your Queen transformed into a pawn. And the lieutenant yawned as he hunted for his fawn. Now the cackling flames spell a sickening name. Well on my way to hell above, I can’t hack the game. Sleep soundlessly, my love; don’t wake sorrow up. I guess I’ll try my best just to make tomorrow up. The birch will hide the morning light where you’re curled. I shall search for my guide while you’re dead to the world. I wish I’d read the warning signs but I am not a Chief. In a year’s time, you’ll be more than simple relief. Now I smoke a cigarette and watch the moon retreat. I think I finally won you, but soon I will be beat. To get by in this world, you just have to make it up. I can’t hear tomorrow breathe, but heartbreak is sup.

Did you ever even love me? Did you really feel above me? Was I just your favourite junkie? Is the truth truly that ugly? Sure! I adored you for more than seven million minutes or thereabouts roughly. You’d weep through the news too if you were to sleep in my shoes, my lovely. Oh, how our sacrificed Christ howled for the now of Heaven’s discovery… The tattooed kangaroos at the nunnery had no clue Winter could be so Summery. Sometimes I drink so much that I can barely think or touch...

She has a skinny build & looks that could kill; She is abused for a living, cooking at the grill. He is famed from Duluth to Libya to Brazil. He is a fulfilled masseuse, with years of skill. They sit together other on a plane & both get ill. He gives him a shiatsu and she offers him a pill. He refuses & she muses on another role she could fill… out of goodwill and for the thrill…. and two lovers roll down that hill. They reside together on the lakefront: If there’s a joke they are not the brunt: He worships her giving nature & cunt, And they party under the midnight sun. Neither of them ever adopt a front And they multiply, bearing two little ones. But children grow up and his fathering goal is done… he rolls himself a blunt… he loves her huntress soul & those runts. He fantasizes of his wife, eyes of onion: He converts the basement into a dungeon. He works on it day & night, sober or drunken: He wants it to appear medieval & sunken. They stay there for a week, aroma pungent: Parts of man & woman run out of suction. Amid the destruction, she rolls & buns one for fun.... but I’m not one to judge in love & war…. for they reverse rolls like Russians. They live there together until one day they die: They die an hour apart but who can say why? Their bodies are found entwined in July: The mailman had a cry & so did I. In lake-town their death is beautified: But some wise-guy objected it was self-satisfied. Be warned, even if you roll Thai… relinquishing control to a woman could be goodbye… for the soul isn’t always an ally.

Let her be born. Let her howl. Let her smile. Let her raise one eyebrow. Let a team of official cameramen document the episode. Let her walk. Let her fall. Let her talk five languages. Let an autobiography be commissioned. Let her go shopping for hats at Sunday mass. Let each hatted human give their hat to her. Let a controversial choirboy wolf-whistle. Let her throw at top hat at the choirboy. Let everyone laugh. Let a jumbo jet deliver her to Time Square to watch herself being born in a TV documentary. Let hundreds and thousands of hands clap when she is finally born on TV. Let her blush at her newborn nudity. Let an assassin take aim on a roof. Let her leave the United States. Let her return to Broadway a year later with a highly sanitised but critically acclaimed stage adaptation of the TV documentary about her birth. Let a husky saxophonist play a smoky rendition of her new theme song. Let every sculptor join forces to construct a vast monument to her beauty in every capital city. Let her personally destroy her nominated monument in a state of the art bulldozer on the first of every month. Let each resident of the country make a joyous pilgrimage to attend the ceremony. Let the air be pungent with marijuana. Let there be a competition. Let this be The Last Competition. Let seventy of the shrewdest scientists scrutinise the soul of every human being. Let there be a huge metal island erected in the middle of the Pacific. Let the 33,000 most successful candidates be flown there. Let the candidates starve and talk and fight each other. Let her arrive on the seventh day, bearing baskets of bread. Let there be a very expensive display of fireworks. Let there be a weeklong orgy. Let her select 183 husbands and 182 wives based on its results. Let The Last Competition be broadcast unedited on the History Channel in the week following her death. I expect to die soon But I intend to live forever Time is a buffoon But humans are so clever Help me sing my soul Help me write a letter Shelter what we stole From the mad weather I love you like we're brothers I love you like a living colour We both lost our only mothers We won’t ever get another History isn’t music Mystery is mosaic Love me til I lose it Dope won’t improve it I’m sorry for the secret I hid it in my stale heart Sometimes I get greedy The mailman drags a cart One day we’ll be an atom One day we’ll be together I used to love Kratom I still like getting leathered I’m sorry you weren’t there I’m sorry I just wasn’t here I don’t know why you care You were always near The preacher sued the projects The teacher was a dude in love The mirror angel just rejects I’m a shadow of a person's love

God knows your burden Destiny is never certain  Til the close of the curtain.  At points we all are hurting  With fate's gates still flirting  So I’m not just blurting whatever comes into my head.  But with that said…  A boy with big hair walks to me on Voltaire street  Glares at me, says he wants drugs but doesn't know where  I say yeah, man, you’re in for a treat, I swear  You can eat & glug drugs by the mug over there.  Buyer beware, coffee makes you care.  That debonair air says you’ll fit in bare.  Consume it on a chair & don’t get it in your hair.  Yeah, you’re welcome.  Might as well sell some.  Some people: God help them.  If you build it, they will come.  I read I assaulted a police officer thrice.  BS: I have many a vice but he insulted me twice.  If the forces aren’t nice, of course we pay the price.  There’s only so much ice cream cake left & it seems we all want a slice.  We both got betrayed & arrested, Jesus and I.  No other parallels are to be drawn except for the circumstances of our birth.  It’s hard to play guitar well- most people can’t do most hard things: that’s no lie.  Get merry after a sherry & ask Katy Perry if she can sing via telepathy [you won’t get a reply]  Flashback to the tarmac: broke more than my back.  But I’m on track to get back what I now lack.  I ain’t that slack, my cards aren’t whack -  Yet the impact’s a fact I can’t black out.  But don’t let the realm overwhelm you, take it by the helm, make your own route.  Brain damage is something I can manage and marriage I can live without.  The rain ravaged me like I was disparaging justice’s carriage with doubt.  Proceedings got savage speedily so I kept all I could scavenge for the drought.  Forget the dipshits: the creator exists.  Religion persists to twist the plot (which is kind of hot)  So don’t take a shot at the deity who prays for thee…  God is all some people have got.  I don’t ramble or gamble, I shamble with the wind.  I’d like to see that rabbit again, man could he grin.  I’ve had it with the habit but I still want some magic.  The demons that inhabit me are undramatically static.  The tragic song is so long that any doctor would fall asleep  The thought of being caught up in it makes me want to weep.  I tried to find unity amidst the commotion.  So I sat deserted in church, devoid of emotion  I ran towards him, I ran fast in slow motion  I was so late for work they gave me a promotion  I was born again in the heart of the lion’s den.  I shouted about Lucifer, some people howled amen.  If I was Zen with the pen, I’d have written that at ten.  But I loved God back then: all the time, don’t ask me when.  I met a young girl who told me to take things slow.  I met an old man who said go fast or I won’t grow.  I saw you breaking through to a world I don’t know.  That thought came later, all I felt at the time was low.  But Love is perfect & love is pure: I couldn’t ask for more.  You shook me to the core, you ended my war.  Like all illusions the confusion came to a conclusion.