DIVINATION: I warned you a blast was raging downstream by elocution to thrust-condensers ramming P-Funk out the dual exhaust, the windpipe and the rush from those who ride shortwave on the MacRiviera, repainting native earthworks the colors of oxidized metallic fingers the monkey-idol left out in the rain too long, ageless the orange oak-leaves moulted brown will continue maniacally twirling in the grass until your sentience writhes before me, sated, kneeling at the worship of a billion, umbral ricocheted stars In my eyes, remorseless invoiced angels struggle free, the risen dog taxonomy yelping down my jawline evolves prophylactic beasts of order from the banks of the Auto-Chlor, jetstream spoken on radio backstreets by lone-goth mobile choirs in niches timed to signal lamps you stretched on twine to the gas silos; on the plain by the toxic-shock station, brackets conceal sparks in the trail of lost fume identities; BLOW: Character breaks are only ghost Antarctic sweats jerking down your cheeks under a punctured ozone; remember when the Meat Puppets played Guadelupe? Don't cry for me, Patagonia, the Amazon's wrists are screeching through tapeheads at high-speed, masked and flailing at the mouth enshrouding peaks with a condensed vulvic moisture and a ring of fine vapor; an occasional shreik or moan won't drive the public-broadcast tundra; Rather pump strafed-baby interrupt into raw gum domains, one nation under a spell perished, full-shadow on the restrained teak commode, Your mouth is an empty lung bloated with mongrel air, and my pagan crush will land you in dumpsters at twilight, rutting and tumbling under cover of packed incisors, task-force weaponry scratching out declensions on the Mission glass, the Popol Vuh extinguished in the negatives any photograqhic evidence for capital exhumes black soot and stone under canopy of the Mayan tumbler vault; PARAPET: I'm going down in the annals of ecstasy as a sub-altern career voyeur seceding from the union of pain with the done deal at the corner conscience store: "Rain Forest Flakes and xanex, please." -it's a wrap. Your manacled breath sternly poses beneath caution waivers sundering rhythm viscosities I'm tossed in the mix on barbs and filed teeth pillars carrying protection I've applied the brakes once too often, and you might have to finish this. ORGAN: Riff forward to the last-born cog, the Great Divide between clefs powered by winter Southbound mackerel skies, the roe slough down, school me down to work; Or, I'm on a Def Revel recording contract, arraigned in hell, the corpse, Dead Elvis, booked and charged with a pocketful of truck-stop violence thrown on the pyre of love, I'm trashing every lineage in sight; and it's one for the money, two for another lost angel in the City at night; This biblical scar world as Pinochet puppet on a broken string looking for an altar, for Jude, confessor, a refuge from mockery, some tawny, blind majorette; The door-crack baiting a branch, an offer of sweetbreads and cod is proffered, the river rolling in iodine and paint, smudge-pot indigo tears, refrain drawn through switches, through the giant leaves of ferns a girl peers open-mouthed and is marked red for the camera or sighting scope; Peru: A jet-trail chisels clouds pearl-grey and the Inca slumber is unfollowable; CAVEAT EMPTOR: The drifiting bread the river burns away at the feed is hampering your palmistry woven in blankets of low squawk the inertial reels plushed at my temples cut clocks from the disk; the sun is a pre-emptive cough.