STAR PUPIL Love me like an atom bomb. Burn and freeze me while I come. I keep your fallout on my tongue so I can rain down in angry songs. black shrouds leave corpses in drains. black clouds rain corpses of the plains. would you dance with me skin to skin to skin? my pupil stars are lonely and are as wide as they are grim; I was lost inside your life-like dream. I was wakened from a field of bloody wings by tanks of wolves that were howling at the sun; who buried us so deeply to see what we become. You frack my hull with gasoline and break my skull to leave your seed. we don’t need needles - we’re played on ghost cassettes we don’t need withdrawals, we’ve already placed our bets; on bloated vultures over fed - circle buzzwords of the dead; cash cow leaders - we’re coerced to eat our own; and our feelings can’t be hurt when we’re just drones. — drowning in your lies we’ll stand up tall and grow a million limbs or none at all you bruised the heavens skin as swallows eat the clouds and I will never hear another sound — The armored taste of napalm lips. Dragon teeth to poisoned ditch. Lysergic sermons proved their worth. salute hallucinations in the dirt. the manics grieve for every time and space what gardens leave the graveyards will taste don’t need needles - we’re played on ghost cassettes don’t need withdrawals - we all have paid our debts.

DEATHCRUX I eat the knife to the bloody hilt. The grooms will fall as the brides go still. I am the tree that blooms in bones; black skulls in honey stones. I am the one who will kill your gods; I eat your kings and I drink the skies. I come like riders on tall black spiders, among the snakes coiled as burning tires. I will decree no desire. All your holy vermin—cut into spades, don’t have nothing left but the shade. Put your love down. Put your heart in a little coffin under the blades. I put your president in the dirt. I burned your flags and I turned the currents. Drank skulls of wine as your armies fell dead, all their missile tongues wag in hell. Such pretty curses from the bodies in stacks, from every farmer that you shot in the back. Their ghosts are marching from the oceans of fires, coming to the white house windows in cracks. Blood in the teeth - half gone; a red white bruise and your shaking is done. Nothing but holes where the buffalo roamed. Get down on your knees if you want to go home, Ill put a flower in your teeth when I’m done.

7-BIT HORSE A river rusted the heavy metal under my skin I gotta magnet heart and its stuck with every nail and pin I got 20 eye balls and 19 are blind, a rubber tongue that reeks of insecticide. I don’t got nobody close but I wish I had a creepy post-terrestrial lover of mine own Mah’ fuzzy brain buzzes like the flies up in the attic My voice is like a busted TV that’s haunted with the static my face slumps like a seven-bit horse a’thrice mangled by tractor off course - and all the squirrels have left holes where the bugs n’ the beetles like to munch down on my circuit boards. I want a lover like a dreadful halloween bride. we’ll get a married in the ruby orange mellow of night and make the love underneath the big blood moons drippin’ down the mountain hide of June we’ll roast fat raccoons on an iron spit. and suck anti-freeze from the tire pits. The rain it rusted the copper gums under my fangs. I got one good back but the other’s got inscrutable pain I got 25 arms and 19 are shot, a rubber tongue that reeks of lichen and rot. I don’t got nobody close but I wish I had a creepy preternatural lover of my own I want a grisly abominable valentine we’ll get hitched in the blood hot eventide we’ll do the jelly underneath the bent scuff moon inside a crevice full of eyebolts and screws and we’ll boil up a dead skunk in wiper fluid and sip a little turpentine

Be Kind To Crows Be kind to crows for ruin swims the land, give them gifts of prose for all the damned. Be kind to those who want you ‘tween their teeth, what hunts you down can get you on your feet. Don’t tell it to the albatross or terns, just sing it like the mockingbirds might burn; for pretty song birds lose their voice in lust, the robin’s blind by their own red bust, they once were sparrows now they’re only dust. Why oh why, we once were fates, we coiled our hands like fervent snakes. our faces burnt and starved by weather - to say we will no more Be kind to crows for ruin swims the stars give them gifts of words and songs of heart; be kind to those who share this ruined feast, to those you leave the rot beneath your feet. we all have one hand talking to the ghosts, the other stuck in mud and shit and woe; To kick rock while others bear the roll -a hollow act will lead to hollow soul - what once were mountains now are only stones.

Your Death it starts as a little seed that grows up big and tall soothe her to sleep with the wild belles of summer, ringing for autumn songs; her ribs have cravings oh how the needles pine, find her a true song before they bloom inside - One wants to save you. Until you’re all gone. Another would sell you for none. One only loves when they hate you the most, a wild grove of shadows and ghosts, old woods have cravings oh how the leaves they cry, find you an old moth before the night runs dry. the broomsticks will sweep out the circles and lines the lizard tails and planes sweep out the rainbows and colorful wilds crumbs of a carnival cake the broomsticks will sweep out the byways and aisles paper trams and trains sweep off the dark clouds and plentiful wilds the violet glacier caves Cradle death as a little thing and hold her close and warm - soothe her to sleep with the wild belles of summer, ringing for autumn songs; her ribs have cravings oh how the needles pine, find her a true song before they bloom inside

I hold the feathers I wrap the feathers around my skull I draw ten stars around my face Raise your fires burn it all down to sleep. It’s a little thing. We’re little things. all the ones I know have names the garden. Buried down inside the keep how sharp the thorn feels how much blood a word can draw gardens buried. so deep down inside the me I’ll hold feathers I’ll wrap the feathers around my skull I draw ten stars around my face the fire knows the how of dreaming deep oh dreaming deep the garden buried. so deep down inside the keep. inside wandering on my felon feet I draw a thorn that bleeds of sleep. Draw a red key. the one you need. to set you free. from that cage you build so deep inside a dream how sharp. a word can be how they seem like black ants high in a tree such little things. we’re little things a dream so deep inside the keep we’re flower skin. leaves and limbs. all flowering. and blooming everything

NEUROBUNKER Don’t take another step closer I don’t know what I might do. Don’t take another step closer to me I don’t know. I don’t know. what I might do. I’ve been down here too long. All alone. Time is strange here. I’ve seen uncomfortable shapes in the shadow. I don’t know. I don’t know. what I might do. To get out of here. So don’t take another step closer to me.

SAFE & SOUND The flags all rot to pieces the states all broke their halls - the birds still imitate the drone of bullhorns gone the riot smoke all wafted and the silos cracked their bells the bombs all waved and whistled before the roses fell Some shook their angry fists while others called their hounds to the thin veil between the safe and the sound the icebergs broke like fevers and the plastic isles grew shores the concrete blooms tall blades of grass and buzz with bees once more the stoplights are all sleeping and the barricades in beds and not one dreams of satellites sailing over head some once shook their fists, some called their angry hounds to the thin veil between the safe and the sound

I will take you under ground so deep where I take the things I always want to keep There is no need to waste your breath or strength, I’m rather strong myself and unrestrained. I finally have someone to hold on through the days to hold on tight while sirens scream through wailing bombing raids there are no nasty lights to hurt our eyes you never have to see the sun arise I will bring the best things if you stay like little pets for food and play a little bit to drink to keep you well its hot and fresh and barely even smells I finally have something so soft and close to love to hold on tight when sirens scream through bombing raids above there is no nasty light to cause us pain you never have to see the sun again there is no need in trying to escape I’m rather fast and very unrestrained I finally have someone to care for ever more to hold so tight through wailing as they gas the upper floors I finally have some thing for all the pain and woe I finally have something soft to keep with me below

HOME We’re tall. Like shadows of the threadbare trees. Lost without a home or key. We miss it like the flowers miss the bees. We’ve cried Rusted down by dreams of home the witches like the ride their skulls to see if there’s a heaven in the bottom of it all We’re lost. Lost without a way to know. we call heaven but there’s no ones ever home. But the witches like the ride their skulls. We sing our songs with the little ones that flap and fuss— who made their nests in the hollow part in each of us, the mighty tones of the little ones with hollow bones. cut down the noise with some honey oil flashing lights on. flashing lights out. We’ve cried our eyes are rusted red and worn We miss it like the apples miss the worms. We thought we had it worst of all. We’re thin our shadows like the tall dead pines the glitches like the ride their spines to see if there’s a signal in the static on the line We’re lost the radiators burned their blues. for home that’s only dust and fumes but the witches like to tap their spines cut down the pain with some poison oil flashing lights on. flashing lights out. So tall. Our Home was like the shadows on the stones. we’re eroded by our rusted tears and moans and heaven never calls us on the phone Move on. Lost without a useless key or home. We miss it like the grasses miss the snow. Thought we had the worst but didn’t know. We’ve cried. Marching with the out black eyes. Heaven’s just a white electric lie, a little static peace of mind. We sing our songs with the lightly ones that flap and fuss who make their nests in the hollow part in each of us the deep songs of the little-bitty hollow boned kings We’re tall. As tall as all the dead rains bow. We miss it like the grasses miss the snow. We thought we’d always have a little home to know. We’re lost. There is never sign of heaven or home The witches like to ride their skulls. To see if they can hear it in the static on the phone. The witches like to ride their skulls. They call and call but no one’s ever home. The glitches like to tap their spines. They call but heaven’s never on the line. We call and call but no one’s ever home. We walk and walk without a key or home. Our tears erode the rusted dreams of home. we call and call but no one’s ever home. We call and call but no one’s ever home. No one’s ever home. No one’s ever home.

(Tales for) Feral Beds Brush the witch moss from your face and storm his lips. Sew the black clouds to the sleeves of bulging ships. Why teach the crickets how to shoot their bows, they won the War before we were even born. Don’t count the graves by rusted rakes who cross the glooms. The terrible clocks know their hands far more than you. No one wants the crowing of your sad glow, just bring them the soft hiss of the rain and snow. I’d rather hear a lions tree with roaring bees. I’d rather lay in feral beds of sticks and leaves. I’ll cut the eye out of a summer moon, from an oily puddle sick with the rainbow bloom— so you will never starve for color and light when you find yourself drowned at the bottom of the world. You will grow a baby star from out your loving head, swimming deep and deep and deeper down and make your way on. Catch the red sun on a muddy hook of snail. Break the chimes or be impaled on wedding nails. Why teach the creeper vines to strangle what they climb, they won the War long before we were born. Don’t count the waves of silver grass as each one gleams , the ghastly meadows know the way far more than we. No one wants the crowing of your rank or fame, just bring them a wild kiss of the lighting flames. You’d rather hear the ghost owl cry where beetles stir, you’d rather lay in feral beds of wheat and fur You will run from nightmare houses hunting the plains on raving legs and starved for names. I’d rather let them eat your bleeding heart than keep you in a hole so deep you’d never grow one at all.