He Is Adam (Dawn Keeps Coming)


Saying thick as stone words applied like hot steam, pressure rising - mirrors magnify nothing of emptinessfractures permutate meaning - He said so many thingsan endless spray streamed indiscriminately upon His athelie´according to His conventions - fashioned of materials at hand.


He cannot wake envy whose spirit is trapped teacher or fakir in His own awakening dreams - measuring out truthvoting with His feet - on a bus, train cycling at speeds too fast - telling me Art is the product of a disturbed civilization thinking I will not be able to escape my own - because a labyrinth awaits every corner each turn - no matter how many calories His muscle burns memories fade like paper - exposed in blinding desert.


Feet strapped helplessly to hurt piled higha studio-garage behind plaster dust and drugs- - curled up frozen in His old sports car ART IS DYING! - He cries to himself - no doubt his back was sore, extremities dumbthat cough webbed thick as rotten cloth - passion passed, His fever needs more.


NOT NUMB! NOT NUMB! wanting only warmthin the bite of sun over Greenlake - mornings crawl mewling from dark tarpaulincovering Carrera white - plaster casts of the only time His women aren't in flightthey are waxen - submissive to bronzeexaggerated in their differences.


He whips and humiliates everyone who givesbecause everything is missing - hinges, doorsthe roof so radically ventilated - He exposedvestigial flippers can be fun - crawling in primal oozepristine, but alone.

He is Adam





deconstruction cowbell blues