the wandering warbling warty warrior wears
silencing self-snapped shackles
bloody burnt toast crumbs adorn her lips
- she gulps ominously.

there's no god but us
we judge
we create
we subjugate
we die empty or full
so just try

don't you hear yourself cry
or remember your forgetfulness?
how long is your pillow dry?
long enough, i guess

when the static becomes the swamp
in suffocatingly muggy despair of
knowing self-sabotage:
isn't it time?
isn't it time?

and when the swamp comes not just
bimonthly but biweekly and
parks itself in your groove
puts it feet on your ottoman
smiling at the slaughters you won't remember
the pieces you won't fit together
though they hover,
nearly colliding:
passionate but glancing blows
you swerve right into the swamp's nuzzle

i walk around
the Universe in my pocket
your memory just waiting
to expand into longing
creating worlds i can't bear to see anymore
but it doesn't matter:
my weeping wounded heart is a compulsive elephant:
cinematographer, editor, director, writer of
the best and worst film ever.