PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Magic dust and floating ground beef...
floating harmonically inside. Touching
statues in indecent fashion, oh, how
marked up the paper is with squiggles 
of indecipherable nonsense! I raise
my arms high, I put them down again.
In fresh milk I swim in flavourless germs.
"Hey! Are you dying?", asks the steel
lips of the granite pill bottle. "I might
be", I reply, "they will let me know."
Conversation over. Mental gymnastics
tight inside the boggled interior. Light
a fire. Burn the books that disagree
with the politically correct dogmas.
I'm crippled in body, mangled in
the mind. And I do mind that the
cancerous volume is turned on so
insistently loud. Perhaps the danger
is in the thinking? So, do not think.
Just feel. Just feel. Growing with
limp abandon, I find the beating
drums are of some sort of foreign
extraction. They'll do that soon! 
Cut the skin and take out nasty
tumour like diseases. Pleasure and
pain become like rain, and the
waters of pain will recede like the
mighty storms of panic. "Will you
learn from your mistakes?" asks
the versatile merchant. "Indeed
I shall," I answer, "I shall begin a
novel way of frosting the candle."
Music begins. I do not recognize
the song. Nothing matters but that
which is important. Deeply dig the
hole. Place feet firmly inside and
let the dirt capture every drug
soaked image that this bit of
silliness has come to inspire.