"but the aces only flew

through heaven, and the diamond

jack called no man friend” tattoo

lost in this world's madnesses,

struggling for simplicity

but damn, it’s complicated

rough farmhouse we live inside

is the oldest on this road;

hand-dug well pre-dates asphalt

looking forward to springtime -

green vibrates the fuck up, and

I harvest froze-squeezed quartz stones

LSD at RFK

Stadium, "Loser" lyrics

etched into brain forever

fire used to be open shared

center of activity -

no longer “necessary”

sedimental detritus

literally compounded

over the slow-dripping years

dedication to walking

with comfort of not needing

to walk ’til new border reached

rojonekku word fighting

arts - an imaginary

12-step program to nothing

surveillance, obedience,

government papers kept in

proper order, up-to-date

freestyle sonnet #065: GREEN MIST POWER ARTZ

Sweathoggz deluded by softened psychologies
install false belief systems into "solid" place
without consulting slow-shifting geometries
of Real Fucking Earth. Soles directed to snake-race,

neglecting barefoot grounding techniques, which instill
and encourage deeper balance. Meanwhile, green mist
monks carry heavy feral stones against brain's will,
decorating box caves with sigils which resist

obedient order. Concrete chunks and rusted
detritus wasteland tiger pit ritual acts
committed, denying gods the sweathoggz trusted.
Elder pine witchcraft, trying to see birch-eyed facts,

fighting against World of Sub(mission) - remain dom
through green mist power cultivation. [Realm of Tommmm]

all these old outbuildings tend

to become rural temples

to self-science practices

shit-eating grin-faced demons

sneaking through the woods behind

the compound, chasing ya boy

ghost pipe abundance last year;

I told no one whereabouts

in the hopes it will return

always on the precipice

of something I can't pinpoint -

solar flare psyche focus

unfinished hotel causes

well-to-do whiteness worry

what which only knows order

supreme mathematical

equations always adjust

with fresh hidden symmetries

drunk driven one thousand miles -

the learned behavior of those

raised in comfort of shadows

orgone bulletholes through blue

sky; manipulate weather

with guerrilla sciences

dilapidated camper

for illegitimate arts

culturing and creation

paint stick chicken scratch poems

on industrial rust steel,

unsure they’ll ever be seen

transformer buzzes but the

virginia creeper closes

in, oblivious to it

criss-crossing consciousnesses

weave psychic infrastructures

which survive generations

primitive instruments for

stabbing deeper consciousness

from my trash-infested life