HOWL for Liana Paré

monotone canaries whistling Sinatra
waking the noon-dreamers from protectively hidden memories
of tragic-comedies printed on banana-peels
stuffed in the sealed Freudian-slip drawer
& scattered recollection of the illusionary countless days
of endless sunsets scratching crotches for friendly-fags
preaching equality
& black coffees by the dozen for one-seventy-five of your seven-twenty-five
crusted tastefully in back-pockets from panhandling the lightning streets
filled with cold bodies plagued with sour-breath philosophizing the psyche
and household plumbing
who wink at little boys gesturing pleasantly-disturbed intentions
while they broom heavy-tissues weighed down by divine brain-fluid
leaking out the exits poisoned by the unfortunate good & glad mother-nature
& swarming fruitflies in empty soup-cans with charcoaled fire-craters
dusting expired baking soda stolen from the dépanneur owned by clueless Chinese
behind the blindly-decorated boxes
glamorously sheltering the nameless & the ageless corner-warmers
who dance casually & hop spontaneously
at the bus stops bumming cigarettes in exchange for crooked smiles
never rehearsed
& empty sandwiches that sympathetically hype the tightly-capped heads
of the expensive soda-pop drinkers who both support
& minimize the hopelessly misunderstood souls vibrant with rubber-pets
& imaginary-friends contemplating Hitler’s many assassinations
hidden in the deepest cracks of empty flower-pots
kicking scummy-boots
behind the governments-gate who generously lends a half numbing
tease-of-a-cure
for a half/paranoid half/dead moist feather-plucking latex worm
who sweats sweet-pearls onto the eyeball shine of the
hospital waiting room floor
where madly destroyed hopefuls sit desperately
praying & calculating mathematical coincidences to the almighty
who-knows-who
of unexplainable fertile-faiths with questions answered by mad geniuses
illuminating the starless-night
celebrating mental illness with loaded guns
& it’s many gifts to art and science from Italy’s Renaissance
to the confused wet raindrop tattoo sliding concretely
down the clammy face of a moaning crackbaby loosely wrapped in the boiled-spaghetti arms of her overdosed mother knocked-up drunk & helpless
whose repressed-anger dissolved intravenously
with the dirty-needle of her howling husband the black-eyed slack-mouthed
one of many misguided money-hungry dogs brainwashed by greed & ecstasy
suffocated with pointless pride
broken-nosed
pope-grande
distributor of galaxies spinning indescribable emotionally with flashing streetlights pretending to be candy while therapeutically impossible of the
no-need prescription
to the third underworld poisson floating lively in a calm infinite ocean
of the other planet unknown paradise
patient & precious with groovy-angels
banging on bongos and blowing in harmonicas
hypnotizing & earthly Shaman
welcoming & warm
where the moon is worth carving riddles
no one bothers to think-twice about because your angelic cursive is illiterate
to any level-headed-joe connecting the little-dipper
while constipated at a boring house-party full of health & mindlessness
dulled by repetitive life-experienced aliens scrubbed-brightly like trophies
who know nothing of childish naked-nights rolling down the golden hills
of limited-laughter and sublimated-paintings
coloured brightly with opium flowers
who blossom freely in the trusted swamps of a sewer
over by the sleazy after-hour bar
snowed in by sneezing freckles on the powdered noses of young prostitutes
selling colourless rubix-cubes to the amputees of St. Catherine
studying literature in a quality university who frequently recite beat poems
out perfectly diseased mouths to the pierced ears of the zombies
who squeal in heat of a high that fall gracefully like autumn leafs
onto the lap of a forever-bitter grandmother helped across the busy-city-street
while strained obviously-racist against traumatized-eyes sunny for a present
wrapped in karma & rotten-teeth biting over blued-lips who kiss the ripe-apples of Eden
& the butts of many bowler-hat wearing psychologist
in the wrinkled hand of enlightenment
lied to spirits in red who chant
head-hunter head-hunter head-hunter
in the silence of meditation fully-medicated
meowing space-wonderers
right back to the symphony of morning on the greenly garden
of a lone psychedelic purple-mushroom infested rock
where woken with crisp visions singing
“that’s amore”