And Arcadia, and: Positronic Sex Cult

And Arcadia

A crystal skull, filled with blood Kool-Aid lifestyles made with too much sugar

Please, don’t worry about the government

     carry the ocean      bury the water

Deepset teeth glowing burgundy

     beneath the sharp cracks and flaws      within the hardened quartz, surrounded

     inside a fireball boiling over

Please, stop making sense      start making sense

     I live in a high-rise      right off the highway

     it’s easy to find

The headdress crown of an astronaut king      over-adorned with feathers      made sacred by the flowing

     captured by the curve of the skull

     pronounced eyesockets gaze beneath      the loose brow of the sacramental wreath

We made a blood oath here      tonight

     we who are witness to      neutrinos passing through

     anointing all things

Positronic Sex Cult

They are a riotous merging of Michael Jordan & Elvis. They hold the cosmonauts as saints. They sell recyclables. They have John Dillinger & Billy “The Kid” on their side. They preamble dawn. They believe in the transference of being. They twang jaw-harps on afternoons. They are renegade free-masons. They infiltrated the continental congress. They coronated “Her Royal Majesty.” They exercise their limbs on terrapins. They brought me bread and water in the twilight. They wrote all your favorite songs. They canonize nymphomaniacs. They encode messages into TV listings. They meadowlark. They control the water supply. They emerge through the tumults of euphoria daily. They are in constant correspondence with Yuri Gagarin. They live above you. They introduced John Lennon to Paul McCartney. They administer food additives. They squared the circle. They worship the seven suns and grieve the river bank. They command the heat-lighting and summon the heat-moon.