SIDE YANG- / by D.M. Jerman

Blasting into existence a gleaming Akashic Record. The cut is wide open and dawn is at a hi-reek. Excitement nears a crushing pitch. Light doles its severe power, devoutly and with sheer earnestness out. A plague of stars become one and sieze all ringing along the halls of chaos’ magic madness. The theatre of its invention runs at a course to sever itself from the depths of unsacred death.

Feel my eyes now. Where they are tattooed on even brighter than before. Urgent melodic coughs of bird and insect speak summer and velcro themselves to the air assisted by repitition. Every clumsy child cherub climbs the rim and falls into the giggling mouth of the volcano ecstasy. Gravity offers a permanent game of toss for this king-sized ball. Always the master of attack and recovery. Reconaissance of scavanged delight. Crazy and free and giving and continuing its beginnings.

The all-pluming laser blast from the top of the mountain. Horny cedar forests spitting hot cock-tears of amber. Yes there is nowhere but here that this exquisite thrall will permit itself to be lugged. It is live. Sharp and marked as an anniversary. A visual demand and a sticking post. Red butler to a city of whores in the sowing season.

Hot planet, besot nearly to the core with the carnage of fusion. Take our stomachs and make them our feet so they may beat a prayer to RA. The great cognoscente to vermillion. The best and most recent game. Enormous toy to create an astronomical, abuseable obsession. An alarming protuberance for achieving wild pleasures, this magnanamous shaft. Sting the cut electric. Cause alchemical silver to plead neatly down between the wires. Make us sore and warm and wasted. Orgasm our heads out of unhappy hell. Hard truth is the craft in this offering.

My elated eyes are getting stronger. Growing, evolving, accumulating recruitments of attentive applause. Success is a freedom-rider. A rogue running. The sweet terror in his wake pours over the streets like sugar. Burning questions collect and muse at the corners and become money. Priapic, lust-sick money. No work and cookies for everyone.

His gaze is yours. Zero questions asked. The inehaustible hoop of tomorrows, like lead and iron, only fade low for a short whim or a joke. Big hammer and lightning always crucify the ebb. The slang of its ray simply pivots across the origin of beauty. Loud laughter asks to eat its own sparks. Welcome to the only addiction there is. Exclusive to the awakened now.