Stone Cold Insomnia ('05 Summer Delirium Dreams)

I feel cold.

Another August daylight is fast approaching

but I'm oblivious to time

just as sleep finds no purchase

in any of my remembrances,

as the drip drop of sink filth

wets the toothpaste caked porcelain.

Dawn's noises outside are muted,

echoing emptiness nonetheless.

Or are they simply my disease

projecting out onto the street?

Stillborn, I starve on starlit sunrises

with world-weary pizza,

too drunk to dream (too cheesed to notice).

Too numb to scream.

But I do.

And I feel.

Cold.

Straining through the condensation,

a summer drizzle of freezing sweat

steaming down my spine.

***********

Can I have fries with these shakes?

The Unbearable Lightness of Beefheart

Captain Beefheart

copped me the keys

to an asylum wonderland,

noise akimbo staccato.

Bestowing rosy crows

of joyous madness

juxtaposing rhythms

just as weird and wired and right.

To ramshackle his aura

in full aural angst

is to play a game of twister

with porcupines and power lines.

Please buck your instincts

and appreciate this terrible beauty

through prisms askew

surrounding you on terms unnerving,

from your tongue to your toes

as the free range octaves

whisper down your blind side.