Dear brother – do my words make sense? Or are they just forms of alliterations flying high past your head, abstractions so tangible they don’t connect with the reality of what I really mean? Are they the same as the voices in your head when you disconnect from us? The same voices that tell you you’re God when -

Nights like these shed tears leading to physical convulsions of bodily ailments not related to psychosis, of weak stomachs, of swollen eyes, of mucused noses, of hurt throats – which are somehow mysteriously connected to tired emotional physical spiritual selves. We curse like Frankenstein’s creature of the meaning of careless creation, much like that of Satan to God as banished from Paradise – a story of morality or one of debate? Whatever it may be, this scholarly war of existence, this talk of childhood, this terror of mistake, death, disease –

Are you following? Do my words make sense?

Lysergic acid diethylamide, that’s a hallucinogen, and 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or Adam or Love, if you must know, leaps from Canada to the blind states on the streets where in universities they create radiant cool eyes and cause ecstasy of love on pimply faced zit faced braced faced rebellious faced youth faced – and poetry suddenly makes sense, Blake had a vision, so did Ginsberg, and so do you – who suddenly dreams of being famous on facebook singing songs of your own gospel and the terror you’ve caused men – Moses! Why do you need Aaron when I called you -

Like The Waste Land we burry your head as dead, when you defecate yourself and pee in a bottle, the cruelest month becomes June when broken vows were made and broken babies are born broken because genetics are broken – brother do you understand? Brother do you know what I mean? How can you create life so carelessly, asked the creature, take responsibility – and I tried, didn’t you see how I looked through the glass window to see if you were crying? Open the door, let me pinch you while you’re still here -

And like an urgent dream we woke up. It smells like bleach down the stairs, last night I scrubbed and scrubbed until I couldn’t yell anymore. I went to bed and wrote you words, do they make sense?

Brother, wake up, its time to move on.