I Miss the Zoo

I miss the drunk

I miss the fiend

I miss the simplicity of addiction

And the scene

I miss wandering aimlessly

in half dead sewers with rats for eyes

chewing on forgiveness

and the will to apologize

I miss the return of no return

as I burn in avalanche after avalanche

of white snow and yellow cocaine

I miss talking to brick walls

While following the grain

and human dolls as I plagiarize myself like a dummy

Stuffed with counterfeit money

for Cairo and black honey

I miss illusions begging to be chased

even as they disappear into me and I disappear into them (erased)

until there is no one or nothing but the chase

and a powdery ghost with no face

(or faith)

I miss evolving into a cloud

Of blue marijuana blown from the lips

of hookers and pimps

as they smack each other down

in alleys for the dammed but mighty

with no one but the weak around

And I miss waking up in no memory

As shame is a ballerina dancing on my head

And guilt is a pugilist battering my guts

Until they're dead

Remorse is sawing into my tear ducts

Tattooed from all the times before

I miss this and more

Even though I know it's insane

And ive walked thru that door

Even tho life is much better now

Then when I lived beneath the floor

I miss numb Neanderthals marching

in rows of living dead

from my wisdom teeth to Spain and back again (in my head)

I miss salvation in syringes and angels of mercy

in blooms of smoke numbing rain

which drinks when thirsty

I miss glasses full of spirits

Who without tongues speak to me of napoleons wild nights

I miss staying up for days and becoming a psychic pretzel

Flying kites

Chewed on by a Zulu heading with toads to mars

A mysterious prison

And one without bars

I traded this life in for a calmer one sometimes duller all together better one

But sometimes

I ain't gonna lie

Sometimes I miss it

I miss waking in the arms of strangers

Like puppies just born in the pound to a dead mother with eyes sealed shut looking for a tit on which to feed

And other dangers

When only the night before laughter

was the only pursuit

even as knives carved up our backs

And demons sat like Buddhas eating fruit

Meditating on hate forever in our minds

I miss exposing even my bones

And the need that rewinds

Even my burning home

Even my gutted inner child

Even my dead grandfather

In the ground that's wild

Even my criminal family

Even my weedwacker thoughts

whipping a thin plastic string

to cut the ears of others

as I sing

I miss van Gogh's revenge

I miss his nightly binge

I miss spiders surrounding my bed

And lifting me as if an effigy or a

Dead

King or a prophet of doom

A Jesus for the apocalypse

Wearing dirt like perfume

Or a mother for Satan

Or ghost for all the children of abuse

And taking me into the fire

Watching me burn

Like a goose

As they sing

In spider voices

There goes creation there goes the moon

There goes the butterfly

Wanting cocoon

I miss being a bloom

And a goon

a doctor of regret

Hanging onto guitar strings in tune

And hanging by a belt

wrapped around some pipe

to nowhere and felt

My lips too wrapped around

what appears to be stained glass

as religious figures dress like

rocks with class burn into gas

to the center of my brain

the euphoria of dying and being born all at once

While wearing the hat that reads 'dunce'