LA PELONA / SNAKE LADY / CIHUACOATL
con banda: “great womb & tomb of all life”
you’re not right for me snake lady
well you aint kickin my ass either
I dig the ravens & the eagles & the sea gulls
I’m into cosmic twins / mostly otters
me uttering udders / staring at those twins of yrs
me spreading black jelly on yr crackers
see you flushed rose toilet bowls I heard / I heard
I got fucking coral snakes for eyes man look at my fucking eyes man
yeah & that / & I’m all funneled serpentine gyre
you elaborate symbols all too much man
been listening to too much Grandmaster Melle Mel
yr eyes look red / yr left eye drooping
yeah I got the droop syndrome as a matter of speaking
really writing
really writing
can’t believe you follow Bukowski
broken glass everywhere / people pissing on the street you know they just don’t
mailman / holes in face / ripping pages from philosophs
care / rats in the front room / roaches in the back / people pissing / no / junk
& he probably never stopped to wipe his ass / never stopped boozing
you’re friend will arrive you fucking bowler speaking of junk
bowl like a snake / you fool
let me pass
my cigarette / I set it in wax now it don’t smoke
watch yr hands
I’m sucking like a motherfucker for a fucking hit
wash yr hands
hear that raven
yr heart smacking like a motherfucker
sniffing yr red headed goodness
special goodness motherfucker
Brooklyn train still waiting
AKlaska night still raining
think think
Brooklyn train still finding
we’re surrounded by the green folks in this bar here & we didn’t even know
Quetzalcoatl
wants to go out still
my head fucking aches
life forced to pass us / trying to try us / trying to type us
yr goddamned tattoo running into new
you goddamned limey running slimy fingers
only visited sold cigarettes no filters still eating foodstamps in my cart not mine printing t-shirts mostly white life driving listening to these piercing spears of whistles biting into my brain / my fucking brain / y’all yelling further still / cigarette burned into wax / imagine that / imagine base contagious clouds ripping from soul y mar / reflections from water tan more
where wind’s warmbreath
there can be no smell of flesh in furnace
formed their castes solid like James Dean Plato sd / wrote / whatever trying to
hide here: yeah a tunnel
mirrors in the leaves / imagine her lashes daggers stabbed rumors branching like fingers imagine
these reserved coils stretching toward her snakes
old people rough to convince of a solid world smacking fresh wind into youthful faces but even Ginsburg got old & Burroughs too / & wild writing spreads like ashes smeared w/ a sponge then wiped clean again for rewipe ¿why write? serpent eyes / coiled self symbol borrowed still from Yeats / turn like an urn Keats / ravens & eagles & totem poles wrapping one into the other & other still together /
junk still filling empty vessel still pressing further into snakes for eyes
never a problem before
never cared serpentine
never cared / coiled
never stopped to think really think serpentine
never thought never a problem before
but really / ¿why write? coiled
never to stop & really think never a problem before ravens big as jets
lost lots between the head & hand
sure you do
get that
you shd
dig
a tunnel through the ocean chrome
dig that chrome
some
find
something there
shadow
sparks
the killing dark not nearly as what yr face seems to stink transcribed
mitigate me it
burns faster than we predicted mother of Samuel Sister Revolution
revenging still the renege
con banda: “great womb & tomb of all life”
you’re not right for me snake lady
well you aint kickin my ass either
I dig the ravens & the eagles & the sea gulls
I’m into cosmic twins / mostly otters
me uttering udders / staring at those twins of yrs
me spreading black jelly on yr crackers
see you flushed rose toilet bowls I heard / I heard
I got fucking coral snakes for eyes man look at my fucking eyes man
yeah & that / & I’m all funneled serpentine gyre
you elaborate symbols all too much man
been listening to too much Grandmaster Melle Mel
yr eyes look red / yr left eye drooping
yeah I got the droop syndrome as a matter of speaking
really writing
really writing
can’t believe you follow Bukowski
broken glass everywhere / people pissing on the street you know they just don’t
mailman / holes in face / ripping pages from philosophs
care / rats in the front room / roaches in the back / people pissing / no / junk
& he probably never stopped to wipe his ass / never stopped boozing
you’re friend will arrive you fucking bowler speaking of junk
bowl like a snake / you fool
let me pass
my cigarette / I set it in wax now it don’t smoke
watch yr hands
I’m sucking like a motherfucker for a fucking hit
wash yr hands
hear that raven
yr heart smacking like a motherfucker
sniffing yr red headed goodness
special goodness motherfucker
Brooklyn train still waiting
AKlaska night still raining
think think
Brooklyn train still finding
we’re surrounded by the green folks in this bar here & we didn’t even know
Quetzalcoatl
wants to go out still
my head fucking aches
life forced to pass us / trying to try us / trying to type us
yr goddamned tattoo running into new
you goddamned limey running slimy fingers
only visited sold cigarettes no filters still eating foodstamps in my cart not mine printing t-shirts mostly white life driving listening to these piercing spears of whistles biting into my brain / my fucking brain / y’all yelling further still / cigarette burned into wax / imagine that / imagine base contagious clouds ripping from soul y mar / reflections from water tan more
where wind’s warmbreath
there can be no smell of flesh in furnace
formed their castes solid like James Dean Plato sd / wrote / whatever trying to
hide here: yeah a tunnel
mirrors in the leaves / imagine her lashes daggers stabbed rumors branching like fingers imagine
these reserved coils stretching toward her snakes
old people rough to convince of a solid world smacking fresh wind into youthful faces but even Ginsburg got old & Burroughs too / & wild writing spreads like ashes smeared w/ a sponge then wiped clean again for rewipe ¿why write? serpent eyes / coiled self symbol borrowed still from Yeats / turn like an urn Keats / ravens & eagles & totem poles wrapping one into the other & other still together /
junk still filling empty vessel still pressing further into snakes for eyes
never a problem before
never cared serpentine
never cared / coiled
never stopped to think really think serpentine
never thought never a problem before
but really / ¿why write? coiled
never to stop & really think never a problem before ravens big as jets
lost lots between the head & hand
sure you do
get that
you shd
dig
a tunnel through the ocean chrome
dig that chrome
some
find
something there
shadow
sparks
the killing dark not nearly as what yr face seems to stink transcribed
mitigate me it
burns faster than we predicted mother of Samuel Sister Revolution
revenging still the renege
