True Teddy No Teddy Body

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He speaks in shadows,
He drinks in silence.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He needs no momento mori,
He has four eyes of lavender.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He is agile like a basiliscus,
He is as quiet as a fog.

True Teddy No Teddy Body,
True Teddy No Teddy Mind,
He walks the path of no contender,
His vigil is unconscious.

Don't Transcend Nothin'

Lashing his last fine gasp,
He stings in blistering silence,
In infamy, this man of stillness,
Stammers untrammeled.

Umbilical is his bilious self-speak,
Meaning the little tubers protruding
From the corpse of the dreck
About to be spent was once supple.

He breaks in bones to forgo body ingrown,
Droops in purge from dreams,
Staking his moment contained,
To puncture her ripened sleep.

She militates his million little trinkets,
Digesting his sounds and scalding
In a bristling furore of limbs,
Giddiness subsides, trascendin' nothin'.

City of Lasers

Gnarled in the furthest reaches of New Jerusalem,
Foundling fidgets a tic inside its cloying caul,
Rife with tweens and Gasolina, Red Bull Vodkas,
The invasion assignment, shcumbags and dockers,
Foundling’s got the blues like his glowing libation.
Chishu, the smiling imp of his soul,
Cradles every tendril of Doom in his Duomo,
Stares at the stars beneath the statue's anonymous vigil,
Knowing a thing or two about zero assoluto,
Off-kilter gaits and obnoxious paroxysm,
Los unloads homogenous vom-bomb.
Him beaming sorriso through the night.

Only Foundling Folds

Little foundling of mucus and strife
Spurts his runny contents awry,
Tends to fissured toe-nails and dirt-stache.
Fashions some subterfuge out of small talk.

Smelling of soot and garlic,
Only foundling folds and hopes for
Altars reeking of blood,
Or a night of no tremble.

He slips in the side,
Panchinkoed through echoes of epoch,
His insect of inhibition nimble, hither and thither,
Reaches the epicenter of his crime and crumbles.