I'm not sure what, but here you are:
perhaps, i have heard, through Earthworn Ears, that
Hevon and Hell nest radioed in our minds
ha! sakred clowds of Eternity, fit in our skulls?
does this Wyrd resonate in your brain pillows? “Eternity?”
no! it cannot! it cannot! do not lie to your Swete Senses
our automaton senses clockwork configured for planetary geograffi
i thought once our hedds (our little squash-hedds!) were dore-ways
that Infinity lurked halo-hedded behind our eyeballs
this is not so! It cannot be, Fathers, whose teeths once hath birthed Great Truths
my hedd is just a sparkling slab of meat, with geens encoded—like quartz!
geens; they are interesting Things, yea! but not Infinity!
i do not think. i do not think. i do not know! Gah! Gah!
make these questions cease, this anesthetic sting
this mortal hurte, eternal migraine
throbbing dull, echoeing dizzily (absently) painful in
the communities of spiritts living in my bone marrow
i write poetries speaking of eternity, yea!
what else is there to write poetries of? flours? revolution?
sexx? freedum? ha! ‘love?’ hate? evil? goode?
let me kiss a whispered secret in your awful little ear:
this black is the stuffs that our bones are made of
and our eyes, and snaking blud vessels, and skyn
our cocks and vaginals and stomach bags
our indignant harts and sinewy Brain-matter
and even our visions of Soul, spectral blankets somewhere
are made of the black
black is made of the black