Wednesday, October 3, 2007

the sound of my voice

(photo by Esti Strydom)

my manufacturing psycho penis-machine
my fruit tree laughter in Van Gogh’s sun
my nutty half-moon mind
my bubbling champaign ego
my extreme pointless inner corrosion
my meditation on my icy will
my praying to Pan and fortified fornication
my penniless thoughts
my shaken fear factor vicissitude
my stride of golden mermaids
my crescendo of poetry, saluting
and wailing up in me like a cherry orchard
swaying in a warm breeze
my tongue filled with all of this
slides into your mouth like a wailing siren
and over all of this my voice blows
a non directional desert wind
touching your skin
and the skin of ten thousand people across the world
bringing in the smell of fresh blood