Visible Light

Megan, a prophet walks the hot red sand searching for wild peyote,
The world turning inside out and upside down he doesn’t pretend to know what it’s all about as he waits for the crusty Wall Street demonstrators to do battle with the Tea Party with pitchforks and pepper spray and the cops stay away on strike hanging out at bars around Zucotti Park, Megan, put your red Doc Martins on, you smell like candy and your ass is the color of mint chocolate, put your red Docs on and walk the snowy hills of Upper Montclair, Minnesota, Colorado and North Dakota, Bob Dylan in China and Neanderthal man in his flowery grave in Turkey and Iraq was not borne of chaos and Jesus Christ never existed and Zoroaster would hate what he’s done to the place, I do not see the corpses standing at the window where everything is strange, flatfooted and surreal, braless and uncensored—

We all love skanks and skanks love us, your ass in the window making love like a monkey, kicking off your flip-flops in the full-length mirror as rich skeletons walk the sidewalk like Japanese zombies and washing your hands like Pilate in his stylish frayed skinny jeans, Megan, you are not Japanese, you are not a lesbian, and you are not a mother of three, dreaming of wild coyotes and cowboys in depressing French films that are midnight classics—

Basquiat, van Gogh and Picasso peeing in Sailor Moon’s face in Paris where African girls in Greek masks chew tobacco and spit in the armed Sikh’s Vitiligo riddled face, the one that shot Indira Ghandi and gave Charles Darwin a blowjob for the movie rights to evolution and Madam Pompadour masturbates beneath her shaggy blue wig, Megan’s butterfly eyes scold the city and burn the countryside with wildfires of hot blue flames, Basquiat wanting to be bourgeois so bad it killed him—
The street reared up like a tiger bred in a factory, toxic breath and bacchanalia and the underage girl on the toilet, her sky blue tights around her ankles wanting to be a supermodel, the pornographic prophet going to college, Native American and Spanish slamming the Eurotrash girl in the mouth with a bottle screaming about the revolution in heaven as Satan looks on and Saint Michael picks up his guitar and strums protest songs as Job and his Japanese lover tumble to the road from a classic red Stingray high on cocaine and heroin as the black and white sun somersaults through the sky, she’s fifteen and he’s eighty, her mother unconscious on the roadside, her grandmother a kabuki geisha sucking the same shogun cock year in year out—

A Greek Orthodox transgender priest with an eager little boy’s hand down her pants, the little boy looking up in surprise, his mother loving the warm Mediterranean sun, whipped until she bleeds in the same dank medieval dungeon where she studies kabala, the ancient days have long passed; there are no vegans in outer space, Japanese pussy stinks like salmon and no one is getting laid tonight—

Revolution; evolution; entropy; look at the shitty halitosis filled world we live in—

This is not the 80’s, you are not an Impressionist, and De Sade wouldn’t touch you with a white-hot poker, she pretends to be insane, but she’s not really, drunk as a Hollywood movie monster, Megan, the prophet waits for you in the dessert high on peyote, she likes to pee in a cup and he likes to drink it and sometimes he’ll drink it from her red boot, no one can tell the women from the men anymore, they all smell like the river, the vaginas filled with mud, penises thrown into the street, as filthy right-wing sluts suck cops’ cocks in the backs of trucks at truck stops to Rush Limbaugh on the radio, the black and white sky turning kaleidoscopic rainbows as I run to Megan in the rain, between the menstrual blood and flower power she’s not a child, she’s not Italian, she was born in Korea and raised as a Jew on the Upper East Side, a resurrected Neo-Nazi Disney princess—

Janet dreams and rolls over in her sleep, breath so bad Dada cries, she vomits in her sleep and wakes up in an oasis, Barbie walking in her sleep dreaming it’s a spacewalk, her beer bottle dangling from her fingers—

Old Playboy Bunnies duplicating retroactively wanting to tear their faces off, impromptu paths through the abyss, ice flow chills, windy Chicago halls and rattling windows, blonde cancerous child and black teenage nympho on the run together to P-town, their hearts filled with shy Puerto Ricans—

Her mind a cloud, her body brutalized at twelve, her mother sodomized by a man half her age, drinking his career like water, her son a buffoon, Egyptian riddles persisting until the Gods return, feet covered in icing, she dreams of you, truth rinsing out as she pees like a fountain, I made sure she was on acid as she walked the sardine stairs, Japanese children with nosebleeds and sixties hairdos is a dirty rotten shame is what it is—
The children of sex slaves, her mother’s eyes, the ugly girls giving the greatest head, her mother’s eyes sold to that man who has wanted them for a long time, the hot Degas and rococo on the beach where Cindy sells her soul of saltwater taffy, speaking directly to the core, soulful pinups of French whores, Schnabel in Italy—
Her red panties a new thing to hold in my hand, an Italian mother much like yourself, ass so blue, Second wave neo-Expressionists and Atomists compete for the broken heart of dreams, movie stars flow like sand paintings, leaking aerosol cans and mascara

And Jesus playing cards with the high-heeled nuns begins to see what dreams are made of, the soul of a black woman made of cheese showing her black lace panties to the sun she prayed for rats but got rain and there are too many blondes to want just one brunette so she stayed close to shore but wanting to drift salvaged her redemption from the damp cave prayed for rats but got the sun, with her heart in my hand I gave her cocaine colonics until she screamed for blood, her Tudor mother dancing like a pregnant witch until she cums in plain sight, until Mars-bred men land naked on the moon, dreaming of wild Australian cunts shaved clean, peach fuzz on the floor, time offering you her exotic fruit, the vintage Buddha fives times her height, her belly filled with Jell-O—

Our languages false until the end of time, her gifted mother black and beautiful, pink as sunlight, proud of her cells ripped by radiation, beer bottles and the origin of space, a collegiate fantasy of blue mothers, red nipples piercing time, she stands bloated like Anime in her blue wig, blonde self excited by the wind through the cherry blossoms as rednecks advance rock and roll and skinny Asian girls line up to be put in storage, as old ladies with old eyes make chairs for Jewish lesbians to sit in—

As four cats and Jesus touch down on Japanese soil and she writes some of her novel and the check comes and the wine and the woman with no panties—

A bag over hear head, why marry her when it’s the perfect dreamtime, her glass hymen shattered in silence, pixilated eyes, cock in one twin and then the other, from one star to another, time biting her crescent tongue, the black tree swaying to the right, the miles we walked wild and windy, Rachel taking off her blouse to catch the rain—
The storm building a man of metal but his eyes are sadly made of water, and as she cried in the field surrounded by her dogs the car stole the moon shining down on the beach, the tide red and silent—

Time riding in on a tortoise, the monkey in its tree, she catches electricity in her apron folds, timed to return to her mirror in the bedroom, she walks a mile into his eyes, he smiles at Rachel and she smiles back, the big dogs barking in the backyard, she sees the sweetness in his eyes, the river and its trees come to her house where Martians lurk where she can see them in the red vision of drone strikes—

The taste of your sphincter on my tongue, robots in chains and your lipstick in the dirt but Rachel eating ice cream on channel 2 at a baseball game thought her teeth were false, swimming to Japan giving me warm chills—
The Pyramid Club torn down violently years ago, the Mudd Club stands there now, CBGB’s in Los Vegas where the wild tigers in cheap suits pretend to be Elvis—

You walking across the street with your tongue tied in bold knots,
The mother’s meat good, tattoos and all, the wife whose face resembles a carpet comes home more awake after morning coffee, Donna’s mother cracking her eggs like children, chocolate syrup raining down on the heads of naked Spanish debutantes—

As Sally’s hole floats through space I dream of Betty,
Her stocking toes walking across my mud hut floor,
A snake beginning to crawl, her orange radiation fading—
Her light of forgiveness descending, I want to suck her Roman nose, her sunset filled with eyes she chews Chiclets in the street, time becoming a mirror circular and narrative; twenty angels not good enough—
Taking her panties off in an alley she races to get back to the past,
Her skull and her mother’s skull wonderfully preserved—

I enjoyed her symmetry but I never loved her, Megan was blue and ridiculous, her face sold to drug dealers, her portrait made of fire spooling into eternity—
Simple geo-graffiti opening the mother’s book, her child’s heart in a sack giving the witch Rachel her soul back like her mechanical sister, drama and nightmares are what children want, her sweat stained stockings draped over the television screen, her mother’s past innocence illuminated, she needs to swallow it like Jackie did in her Brooklyn dreams—
Love can be found on the toilet or in the garbage, when I found her she was made of raw meat and string—

I didn’t look back and I’ve never seen her again
Teenage lesbians are perhaps the least interesting people, right-wing surfers with bad haircuts wanting to be foot models with hot pink manicures, tracking chip installed in her heart she’s frozen in time, her clone surviving in the dark stinking like a good Caucasian in a corner should as prehistoric androids crawl into the light, her father fucking her with the lights on, her naked past and skeletal charm something like beaten twins though her ass would fit into a teacup—

Her mother’s head follows me around, her scent staying in the kitchen, Rachel’s blue cat filled with love, her minidress wrinkled on the floor, her tube-like eyes laboratories where it rains, thousands of whores having come and gone and no one cares except their johns

Visible light is electromagnetic radiation whose wavelength falls within the range to which the human retina responds, i.e., between about 390 nanometers (violet light) and 740 nanometers (red light). White light consists of a roughly equal mixture of all visible wavelengths, which can be separated to yield the colors of the spectrum, as was first demonstrated conclusively by Isaac Newton. In the 20th century it has become apparent that light consists of energy quanta called photons that behave partly like waves and partly like particles. The velocity of light in a vacuum is 299,792 kilometers per second.

Visible light is but an echo, or an illusory kaleidoscope created by the vibrations of the rod and cones of the neurons of the eye. Actual matter, or reality proper is unlit and exists in a state of complete darkness. Actual matter is composed entirely of abstract geometric space (dark matter). Light is simply a lingering after-effect and has little to nothing to do with actual existence except as a vague approximation, hence the term “impressionism”.
The mud and chaos of an abandoned world of permanent night
Where no one walks in my footsteps, Prometheus late for the costume ball, homunculi emerging from the womb, nose gigantic and suicidal—
Redhead so dark and Goth, blonde mother exposing herself,
The kid drawing like Michelangelo high on paint fumes,
The fat girl eating candy by the handful a Goddess,
Bettie covered in chocolate drinking coffee at midnight, Jennifer cool and drunk

She lets her boyfriend shit on her face but she’s not complaining
Who is she and who are you are who women and gay men can relate to and both gay and straight teenage girls enjoy getting sodomized more than gay teenage boys do—

More barbaric and savage everyday wearing the mask of a mask
When the lights go out and the rain doesn’t stop, openly hostile and ignorant in an antebellum ballroom surrounded by Basquiats and million dollar mannequins—

Bettie covered in chocolate drinking coffee at midnight, Jennifer cool and drunk

The elegant past of the gyaru facedown in the toilet is as elegant as Chinese history and a porn star date with no subtext to the neuropathology—
I’m not sure I want a girlfriend with a big ass and tattoos, on medication and a dick, yhat would just be too much for me to handle—
Spread your crack, you whore and show me the worms eating their way out of your psychedelic gypsy sphincter, a chick with a dick is not a chick and if you think it’s cute, you’re a faggot and the world explodes

The lovely blonde with the Bettie Page bangs makes a wonderful living as a whore in Vegas where she lives for the night, men lining up to get their hands on her mother’s ass, the prissy Spanish High School teacher that liked to suck cock in the seventies as if it were a Golden Age, I’m always interested in going back to primordial times, I’m fascinated by how beautiful women evolve and how they become extinct, fat girl facedown in a dirty toilet, her Puerto Rican soul in tatters, St. Elizabeth sending her love and punching a cop in the nuts and taking the Japanese girl’s eye out, her gay eyes high on breast milk, his ugly daughter sucking cock for money losing track of time—

Go-go girl in the sauna wearing diamonds and chains, growing up to become a dominatrix attorney, the fifties supermodel going to heaven on a 747, every woman dreaming of their father’s cock, there’s no way to avoid it, some more than others and every man fuck’s someone’s mother sooner or later, either his own or someone else’s, she buries her hate in the forest,
He buries his in the sky, grandmother and granddaughter in garters and stockings filling the emptiness with questions for the known slut who bathes in the dirty water of my heart and drinks the laughing neurotoxins from my brain, her asshole stinking like sweet garbage in an abandoned world of permanent night, the mud and chaos of Bettie covered in chocolate, Jennifer cool and drunk



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