Burn this book,
and forget you
ever read it,
as repressed
memories to
reappear as
fractured
fragments of
expression when
the future is here.
Cremate these pages
over opened orange
flames, then scrape
up the remains with
a spade shovel, before
smoking the ashes and
snorting the leftover
embers embedded
in charred coals;
starting destructive
fires inspires creation.
Bubbling ink,
at about four-
hundred degrees
Fahrenheit,
runs in random
directions, creating
cartoons for the
psychotic minds
of my generation;
an accurate depiction.
Give yourself
a lobotomy,
and pan fry the
spongy gristle in
lemon pepper
seasonings,
garnish with
parsley and eat
using chopsticks,
that section of
your brain which
pictured my words.
