Yeah, I know Up. She?s in the closet but she is always up. Curved. Bent. Broad eyed nailed. Victim on the train. Glory when you have enough random logic to kill a horse. Blindfolded. Gagged. Pleasure. Meat. The need for glue to stick up on billboards in the street. The lizard people are watching, making sure.

Morale that sells shoes, coffee, understanding that we can't live without. Regard for breath. Death to the riot grrls. Charm died on the CB. Charm died with bubble gum and fancy tiled floors. Paste on the tongue in the 4th grade. Licking faces until all the salt was smeared on Up's chin. Crayons for the children. Scissors for the lefties. Mules for the hills, lets go.

Jumping beans for the Chick~lit one legged child on the bridge. Up's drunk on agave. Bold approximation of light in her eyes. The list goes on. Bad things can only get better, it's night time. The belly has had not much to say until now, "Feed me!" yells Up. "Give me money and make this drug horse run."

Through the forest we can find cures for cancer and buttons for ass going on in a hallucination of night right fellows at the bottom of the picking well. "I pick you, Up." I want the one with the eye patch. The brass lover with his feet sewn on tight. "Horses need love too."

Only dead horses never tell, like snitches or cement shoed DEA agents (a tough breed I've heard) or the CIA listening in on Up's phone. "Stick in there for the big payoff." Papa needs a new pair of shoes. Roll the dice. Eat the taco. "Spit the water out or you'll be pissing in your coffee." Don't be surprised if those shoes are made of glue. Stick the spike in, make sure there are air holes for my soul to breathe and that my blood doesn't become stagnant.

Hopefully my bruises will not show when I need to be cleaned up and ready for bed with my bride under the sheets. Having a scar might mean your tough but what if all the scars are under the skin?

Does she love me? Will she be me, take me, feed me, let me be her?

Miss Cleo's Springtime Voodoo Happy Easter. The bunnies are on the wall ready to be de-furred.

Truth is all over my ruby lips. Mysterious and disturbing, Up symbolizes the paradox that is existence kissed away, always and knowingly, with, yes sometimes without, poetry. Random floating bubbles of thought. Like a cartoon carpet you can't get up from. "Riding the tiger. Biting the cock. Letting loose the bull. Rolling the rats."

Death is not the end but the ultimate transformation. Stomping butterflies. Cocoon unbreakable. Jumping for freedom. Cocoon unmistakable. Forever.

Throat line loaded.

Misty floor lust.