Seth Jason Leslie

I will do a mighty sinking star . . I will do a driving rain . .
Cut from a cloth spinning, winding . . Blow in my ear, a lash of 42 colors.
Pulsating paths of control . . Rinse and repeat as called for in The Great Book.
Junction rodent found most beautiful eyes on wire-tapped Archway express sun. No physical scissors being made for use. Just waiting in the cabinet like I would be if I were an inanimate collection of decisions and forms.
My thumb boiling freedoms. Mind wandering aimlessly through future breath now. Siamese cow-bell jumping for the Moon’s chin . . Might have heard about a strange whisker. Constant background assignments ring off from Liberty Bell aisle number nine.
I remember Jesus making me a sandwich in the kitchen, from the hallway . . “Do you want lettuce?” . . “No”, I answered as subtly sarcastic as I could pull . . “I do not want ANY lettuce!”
Laughing creature on my bed . . Laughing statues on my head . . Let’s chase pigs through the Rose Garden . . Let’s make love to the stars . .
Let’s breathe the dampness in from the air . . Let’s take care ov each other and disconnect consciously from evermore instant digital insect herd swine propaganda . . To surgically remove The Truth from nothing and to put Nothing delicately, forcefully into anything and everything. Mind virus in the herding Word. Body virus in the Purple Stain brain sieve . . Your sleeves are battered in the battering ram wind . . Man fucks man through the Mind Virus words. You believe a Lot. You feel heavily turning into salt. You pause to collect impressions. Your fish-bowl eyes . . In flows bias and curses with the wandering injections of Mind Virus. Skyward laboratory kicker serum . . Sap storm through sucking wound hearts beating security. Nation-State models twirling batons of mimicry and dust. Music buckets sought. Wild fissures to fuse sparse blood to flowering void. Happy little feathers. Dancing beauty from empty memory faceless dolls. Military style meditation militancy yoga food.