Hydra Breath

Come with me.
I'm calling your wild spirit with a juju all my own.
It's a psychic thang, can you sense it?
Didn't we see the moon descend and walk the earth?
Didn't we explore the sensations of rusted midnight honesty?
I'm ready for truth.
Fling your "yes" at me like a pair of wet panties -
like, like a soul that's finally caught fire -
like, like some bold, new, lunar desire.
Sample my hooks and bind my books,
while D.Atomicus wrestles "knowing" from the man with the frozen scream -
while angels fall like flies
and love-sick giants paint the skies.
We'll merge with the living mandala
and dance our way to a sticky heaven.
We'll inhale the breath of the Hydra and toss caution upon the fiery breeze.
We can build gilded temples - then rain destruction on them.
(The times call for action. Teaching without teaching.)
Come.
Follow me to the land of bashful dogs - where life is alive!
I keep writing your name, while bored ghosts attempt to entertain me -
rattling their chains in a blase fashion.
I'm being drawn into this dry, hot world.
This world of weary spectres.
A town full of eclipsing night-birds.
A street that's dead on both ends.
A house filled with rocks and shells and bones.
Thrown down and trampled upon (like yesterday's art), I saw time in many dimensions.
I heard the color of your sad eyes and tasted your body in an act not quite cannibalistic.
I lit the great candle and let loose the midnight howl I had been saving.
I suffer no delusions.
I feign no grace.
I'm up to my ass in shit, but I have a grip on god's big toe.