inbetween and under the ladder up the long ladder and down the short rope...inbetween worlds without a head, lost somewhere in this nebula (the scientists ignored it, no one's seen it for miles...) who are we flying with today? i can feel the momentarily manufactured fixing itself in the middle...i can feel my toes coming off and off again...and the ellipses make me dizzy and no this isn't what i want to say, what i meant to say at all...pressure in the temple, i think the dam is breaking somewhere, i think a small universe (multiverse) is coming to an end, is going supernova...boom. firecracker firecracker. cousin, next door neighbor, the tiny poeple under the street we had to save wuth self-destruction...period. splice a comma in for support, my music is still green like the winter and iced over...blink. sleep wants to claim me again, i can feel its voice creeping, tiptoe, tiptoe...and maybe if i write it out it will all go away...tiptoe, mroe like stomp stomp stomp and the mechanical crickets take their places along the corridors and the mechanical maggots crawl in and out of esher's tombstones and up the long ladder and down the short rope...my head rolls off itself, just another trip to the guillotine, my eyes fall out and they are somewhere lost, somewhere in the glass casements and battlements beside my bedside, that place where i soak my dreams until the following morning, and they're still crawling in and tying me down and here i am in lilliput and here i am with tags and pinned down with those gigantic pegs, wings of the bu tterfly stripped, faerie ripped, and open and open i can feel the doors poiund pound pound like the pohantom hammerstones breaking and basking.....it's oinly the summer somewjere ... no game playing in the room. no elipses in the breath. no hand sto guide you through the storm, the storm the break the phone opff the hookj with the ghost phantom call9ing calloijng from soemwher e behind the curttain somewhere in the black black black recesses of my head somewhere there. photo me down, color boiy, bring me back, the usefiullness hads drained and i die just a little evwry tome the turkeys brea5the into mre popsticle gone and deadwith the eyes still wandering and rolling like the heavy man's dice on the floor, rolling rolling the snake eyes kind of stuck up summer net the bloody mouth swims in the blood, the polka dot dresses washes up on the crimson shore in that amniotic tide of lost memories and the staircase breaks and you can still hear the screaming for miles... i am not this i am not this i am not this... i can bounce the cinnamon off of mny tongue, i can storlol int he lanes of calcutta and lasso up ghetto ellis island and all of the other lost souls like me with the pale-faced nastolagia of a last lost beginning end. arrow me odownb, cut me up in cucumbers. typos and negative and i can't fdind the way oiut, in theis box of flesh and this jailhouse of reality witht he bars melding into my brain and hot wire flash and electrocution comes up and swallows me whole...no i am not this i am not this... goosepimples on a duck's back i can bring the atwer back i can bring the arrowheads out with me teeth, all ypou have to do is snap the w\feather and pull the tendon with your teeth. it's that eeasy so am i now onew of the cinderella girlds and am i lo9st oon the chimney wit h my feathers all loose nopose goose duck duck duck... so don'tyoucry for me for ic pome from alabama with a banjo on my\\\ knee.