Moths

Spiral down the path

of least resistance

down a chute to a bed of nails

that becomes a trampoline.

Bouncing lost souls

from extreme to extreme

emperor Ludwig is with us

so is Doctor T.

Technicolor stairs & spires

fantasia trips and wires

5.000 happy fingers

ready to play our song.

I… don’t think I should

go… you can make it…

yaaaahhhhh!

Vortex recedes

all I hear and see

echoes of my face and fears

in a chamber of one-way mirrors.

Voices from the drain

whisper like machines

now that you’re in our dimension

you’ll never ever leave.

Ahh… treasure gleams

to leash and harvest thee.

Down, down to Bermuda triangle

sink, sink 10.000 feet below

time to finally meet the zookeepers

we let swallow us whole.

Moths

light any flame

they fly right in.

Deep in Chinatown

in New York City

drop a coin into a cage

chickens dance on a hot plate.

Hot foot round & round

til the wheel runs down

that’s you as we view

through our ceiling of glass.

Kneel…

Al Johnson style

please, please

can I get a raise?

Crawl, crawl through the steaming jungle.

Please, please more purple Kool Aid

tabloid beauty corpses point the way

we’re not in Kansas any more.

“No little buddy

I wasn’t wrong,

you were wrong!”