Gas fired heart bound self
Part boiled in scorched seas
To cleanse this epidemic of me
Sure ain't no safety net needed
Where's my answering machine
To cross check examine myself
Against your rationalistic crap 

I got a crate of shit
That's not on my electrocardiogram
Madam please help me
Indicate a course of action
Before I shrink into nothing
Or are you just another moll
I covet like all the rest 

Father forgive me my sins
My reality gland has failed again
The pendulum keeps sticking
Beyond any point I can see
Can you give me a haven
Smooth these sharp edges
Disinfect this rotten soul 

Come close enough to smell my skin
Twist 'n turn, push n' pull any knobs
Taste my lexicon tongue
Soaked in an erotic gloom
Stalk down my elusive tenderness
Laying low in the depths
Of my overwound innards 

I feel foreign roaming this native land
A history of checkered mysteries
Molding a pyaemia of the psyche
Pulling my temperament to extremes
Held to ransom by suspicious traits
Glowing cats eyes in the shadows at dusk
Lying in wait to levy my poor purity 

If you could hear my thoughts
Exactly what will would you show
Toward me when landing upon my shore
Could you bestow me delights aplenty
Or rub reality into my wounds
Entwining strands of scenes played out
To distil my wild dream sea 

I shall comport myself no longer
But have affinity with my burdened soul
Turning my thermosetting sky high
No longer assuming the emotive illusionist doctor
Inflicting intense iatrogenic diagnosis
But summoning myself to Breath, Love and die
For what is life to be, without such elementary


Written: October 1994

A Piece of Pulp Poetry

copywright N Treadwell 1994