I am a Slamma-Bama sinner disease,
a Humboldt Dreamwalker
communicating across viscosity.
In ham pajamas, blindfolded in the FOG,
walking on my knees.
Into bloody ABYSS, raining piss mist,
you A
R
E on my list.
I would sleep and animal sense, the farm
in the mountains,
Skywalk up and through the midnight passes.
Ride home on my skin grafts and laugh
in my FACE.
The haunted shadow of rotting seabirds, an
antidote for your lack of space, yet
roamed with mushrooms and taunted
McKinley.
Cold and wet air wanderings, me watching the black
balls with cookie and cat friend.
I disobeyed the FANGS!
The smoke moiling about my feet,
I will say no more.
Run! puma specter, spur-chested,
heathen fat lopper full of slit ears,
and worse.
Case scenarios: esophagus filled
with soul bones, lazy eye,
dark pit steaming.
We hold hands and leap
into the skin, field and drift.
The river boils those sinners
on a cracker spoils,
and the LEECH ponders.
