Let’s begin in a dream
and see where we go.
I have a girl’s sweater
tied around my waist
I eat the last free cookie
as I wander through a video store
and look for the horror movie section.
Go get me my pistol Bob,
I can’t tell right from wrong.
The slave girl gets her first raygun
by taking it from the frog creature
she strangled with her iron chain.
Hope is the feathered thing
who lurches in a straitjacket.
We sleep on the side of a mountain of cocaine
while computers chitter in darkened rooms.
I’m surrounded by an army of Guardian Poets,
Night flows from my pen,
and the poem knows I’m sick at heart and it carries me.