Full Moon Freakout

Let me tell you

something

about 

teen titanium stupidity.

It can come

in tootsie rolled quarters

on deep dog days

under foothill sun.

Profane fun

will tape spool 

over night cunt parley.

Garter snake rivlets

of Scott Walker

chase prone blades

of field grass mice.

What?

A cat 

snake hinged

sits on electric fence post

singing like a saw.

"I thought you understood 

this wasn't what we were before

but we sure is now."

Sometimes it can 

make you call the lightning 

like baseball

and

bounce big foot basketballs

through fern skirted

stands of cedar.

It awakes you 

to your 

groovy decay.

Bastard rings

of San Francisco cocksuckers

won't be able to talk you down 

from the processed heights,

little

richard

and 

necessary.

You will go outside.

You will go inside.

You will go like an olive

chasing a bee-sting 

in noon time.