sloppy magic on the

universal porch

I think it was more then awards

portions of skin were universes of their own

multicolored bruises...

windows to the bones


I think we're clones.


old spirtuals sung on the farm

mother masking moments of terror

to make the heart warm.

=

eyes flutter along


death of the
a tomic

cowboy

CARVEd into a deer sKulL


funeral processions by mourning


PAY PER MACHE MOBILE HOMES


the
electric
wizard
is now live on I.Vs


doing his best to reach a spirtual beach


"this peyote will bring back my speech"


this is his belief ///

his tone is weak


the cosmic infant begins to peak.