Porterhouse Thrills

Been aging myself like beef,
standing idle until I'm ripe for extraterrestrial abduction,
broadcasting on a frequency of low self-esteem,
a welcome guest to a sissy race of clammy-skinned, space dweebs,
deep inside I hide the truth,
in the White House of my soul,
in the locket of my heart,
there lies a whole new start,
a mustard seed of unborn art,
kicking like an atomic fetus inside my heart!

Transformation Sans Gratification

Comfort has brought horror to the suicide shaman,
has the stallion spunk of VIC THRILL been forever slumberized?
Hara Kiri with a spring-loaded rubber knife, NO!
Every so often a sleep walking soldier wakes up after having put on 30 lbs with a feedbag on his or her face in the conformity ward,
smoldering faith in the Super Being that is a whisper-like fuse into a head full of dynamite!!!
I am too weak and blind to roar and have any effect,
be still,
slowly fill a blimp with the air from your lungs,
a visual aide for your reverse contemplation,
pumping consciousness,
like hydrogen into a vacated will,
a whisper of hope into his ear,
like dope disarms his fear,
toothpick jostled in teeth a chatter,
ignite tongues of fire in the soft shelled sleep walking soldier delivering a hydrogen bomb!

Sanitization of a Sick Mind

WORRY is not REFLECTION, it is misspent energy and the smell of it attracts devils at the speed of light and as soon as the light comes on in your mind, they jump off and pounce on the next poor soul. Poor souls - know that you are beautiful and unstoppable when you turn toe and hunt the shadows that haunt your mind with halogen wonder and silent thunder.