Xiaoxong

Sanity light tonight sober gentle street.

Truth puddles get cold on leaves

But bide time counting every free-falling moon.

On a pillow of earth toxic freedom shocks the system,

Gas masks second hand bullet vests,

Caps of money make ugly the New Synthetic Limb

and bruise-burn purplethe New Black.

One of these days God won't turn back but save.

Now we're waiting for the next extra special heat wave

In a cotton field sitting on a comet periodically real,

Our brains mangled by the tipping stars, sunlight, sniffles:

(Bucketfuls because I do not belong, Xiaoxong.)  

The beaches, look at them, handmade dust and glitter;

Such sanitized shaved legs golden dawn and wired!

Such fires and baggage to sell or drown or split.

And due twice too, the echoes, listen to them

 - a murmuring nasal twang dark splinter;

Demigods with spit-shined halos hooked

on woman heart and tight ass plucking strings,

Selling ozone and word-glue along brick avenues

while the assassins sleep in the winter sea.

One of these noises will one day be covered by a moustache

which will grunt rom the corner by an acid metal barrel

filled with more sounds than whispers; 

The orchids rub my skin sore

but I only want more,

so much more than another dull right turn,

So much more inside Xiaoxong

like crazy air and sordid ballads,

cotton mouth panties in my zipper.

Thick books on the oblong table you grunt I swallow yr bra and glove rabbit,

Then terrific wires tangled up in arms splitting up the fog

while you walk the bed of toenails and giggle

And tickle like an ocean fish brandishing a wild chainsaw.

I love the inside beat and flower by the freak tide 

dripping down my throat

And conquering my spine right sunken

and turned on the worm-word song-drama-farm:

Xiaoxong Xiaoxong, your very thoughts are the sky an prfct crumb:

Antidote to the lie.

Chris Weige | California, TX. | Share a key intuit | From The Richmond Review (UK)