Garden of fingers

garden of fingers

the casual observer of a PETRIE DISH dishing out a biological side
order of fruit flies deep in the throes of an aides conference on the
reliability of the new left to be anything other than a paint job over
the top of old smoke &; mirrors... it dont cost a thing to go skinny
dippin in the shallow end of the football pool your resources &; go
for big tip time tumbling down the street in an old PIRATE baseball
cap... with pop corn &; cotton candy &; a crassly tuned band
blaring away like some old burlesque quartet with the drummer riding
the tom like a tom cat in heat... if tom cats did go in heat it up
&; serve it to all the fine young necrophiliacs lounging around in
the dead of winter waiting for tidbits at the snack bar or fingers in
ovary sauce at the steam table...

steaks in the hearts of vampyrs &; prayer wheels turning the ill
sodden path of samsara into a garden of fingers forever pointing at an
illogical space in time... or the slaughtered daughter lost in a pink
fringed time warp? depending of coarse on where your taste buds roam in
a HOVEL TELESCOPE as the cosmos wave bye bye to the little man tucked
in the rumble seat of an old ford coupe... see you in the cast off
department of your local THRILL A MINUTE at ten cents a minute or
twelve for a buck? just a buck to try your luck on the dark side of a
hockey puck... dont give a fuck if your luck runs into last months pay
as you go? cause anyone can scam a blank check into a velveteen dream
chart complete with a wish fulfillment clause that is activated by a
stipend of wishful thinking crammed into an inside straight careening
over the edge of a date palm... scattering the days helter skelter
across the ground with only a frown on the face of DAME FORTUNE turning
over in her glassine phone booth &; coughing up a bit of
blood...

give a nightshade resume to a MIMI infected interior... past inferior
&; divested of the steroid dream of future shock... while the past
slowly becoming a fate de complete with a rumble seat sticking out of a
wash board dream...or more simply put... irrelevant &; immaterial...
especially around the edges of the coin machine where the fairy dust
tends to collect like tiny pods from a low budget SCI FI show...
COMMANDER CODY where are you now that we need you &; your simplistic
solutions to all the evil in the universe... plus the insidious dark
spaces that just might in time crowd us all out of the final mix down
&; then painful as it may seem... to some at least... none of this
will mean more than a truffle in a pigs stomach...

or the mind eyeing the final cornea transplant before the lights go
out? ALL OVER THE WORLD... visual annihilation just may be the final
cure for all our squeaky ills &; afflictions... the rest as they say
is silence... but this time its not golden but a deep shade of purple
blown out of proportion by an obstinate little man in a gray chalk
stripe suite of rooms in the ANY WHERE HOTEL... just off the 4 corners
of any ones imagination? or prevaricate if you must but touch not a
hair of her cunny cum cunt... when in doubt punt... front... blunt is
the weapon in the hands of time...a few hours on a quiet stream...
while the crayfish nibble away at your toes... &; scratch your nose
while in the throes of one more strangely nodding head in the back
window of a beat up IMPALA...

so its the fellas night out &; the bars glow with a distinct yet
impure light... bar cats in smoking jackets stalk the rat holes with a
measured pace then grace the garbage cans with immobile nonchalance...
or waiting with incredible disdain for tid bits to fall from the haze
on high &; sprinkle the land like a FORTIAN MIRACLE... much like the
down pour of fish in a past era... although fish stories do have a
specious history... much like turning water in to wine or the infamous
water spouters turning themselves into a RENAISSANCE FOUNTAIN... blue
is the color of my true loves vanity vanity all is vanity &; that is
a verifiable fact that can hold its own amongst the leisure group from
down the block &; over the fence... we are now hitting on all
eight... then six... now four... soon it will be two... then one...
then back to the flexing of a finger in the on up &; over position
it just right so we don't have to go through this again?