FACES IN THE SAND

The whiskers are crawling out
of my sink and the drain is a carnivore
growling, yes>
at me> beating chest, vowel spitting
silver back, banging like two
twelves, box dropped and trunk
consumed.
Swallowed Whole
Thump-Thump it bumps
like caffeine bomb hearts crawling
jungle vines, with cave man acoustics
drinking jungle juice and clawing
Sparring one man shows like boxing one's own Shadow
Raw dog splatter houses eat Mr. Clean and spew Hand Aloe
hazardous Hellions and slick self cleaning bubbles with magma eyes riding high and hiding out under dark hoodies and building stoops
Hurry
Rain poors. Ping ping
Rumble-Rumble
the bells sound for the main event, Wolf image solitude, hunting
Blood words spelt wrong and backwards in Crayola
Following that blood 2, bloodhounds bark, howl and Tussle
Razor piranhas with razor teeth and Razor beaks, biting segments
Stealing Styles
Eating 2 quick to digest, is it common, no thought and minimal response time
Once I was in a Rehab and sent a man with liver cirrhosis that stunk so bad no would talk 2 him and forget about bunking with that madness. The people hated him and the counselors could not legally give out an explanation for his stink. All the residents thought he was just extremely unhygienic and protested anyone having to sleep in his room atop his stinking corpse. He showered hard, put talc powder on, cologne and deodorant , but after fifteen minutes would get 2 stinking again. Weeks later, he told everyone what was up and the whole thing got awkward and Awareness was Finally present.

So realize- we all are Fucked and and some Fucked double
this is it in it's exquisite love
Enjoy yourself
and Notice the faces In the Sand

C@ptain Wallnut

 

THE STORY OF HANDS.

Floyd has 6 or 7 gray,
spit-curly, pubic hairs
growing on his
right palm.

“Guess I got hairy palms,”
he says when he forgets
to pluck ‘em.

The skin on his hand
was transplanted from
his groin area,
years back.

Floyd was carrying
2 full buckets of
hot tar across a roof,
tripped over some tools,
& fell with the buckets
into one boiling
tar pit puddle.

One roofer, Tony—
a gentle mountain—carried Floyd
down (what must’ve seemed
like Escher’s ladders at that
moment) the aluminum ladders
& drove him quickly to
the Emergency Room.

Floyd spent months in
the Clinic’s Burn Unit
getting his good skin stapled,
then pulled because of
oozing & leaking infections,
then gauzed & re-stapled:
a mummy’s nightmare.

He was used to drinking
a 12-pack a day & he started
having hallucinations from
the withdrawals &
the pain.
Floyd saw giant tarantulas
curled, waiting, in his
hospital room’s corner.

The Doctor allowed his
wife to bring in some
Pabst beer to help him
cope.

25-yrs later, after showing me
the pubes on his hand, he snatches
them w/ his thick, partially-bent fingers—
like those mechanical pincers in a
Big Grab novelty game,
mandible-clawing a prize—
& allows them to fall
onto the garage floor.

“They’re like weeds.
They’ll grow back.”

Jason Williams

 

CHIROPRACTOR

I have a cross
I put myself on
The hard surface
Is good for my back

KE