Wonderworld Mandala

Screw the wonderwold and all its new ways of excitement. Screw carnivals and new mothers. Screw the lights inside caves. And bats. Screw them, too.

I went camping in my sleep and found a red bird half beaten to death by ants. It was already dead. And someone painted a picture of it with twigs sticking out of the frame to “get us there.” I was already there. There in the wonderworld and everyone was screwing each other because they loved to feel something.

Screw the horse in the field on the other side of the fence of the red bird eaten by ants. Broken leg. Speaking.

Wind. Screw it, too. In my sleep, I found my heart doing a dance on a mountain. I was screwing myself next to a carnival. Someone painted a picture of that, too.

A man named Jessie said he had a mandala waiting to happen in his hand for me. I said if it didn’t include the red bird it was shit. Someone painted a new mother bent over a fence. The horse was speaking. Broken leg and all.

Screw the wonderworld without you in it. I love to embrace everything and then break its legs. I am an ant colony carnival. And lights within a mandala screwing myself next to a man named Jessie. Paint a picture of that. Hang it in the Museum of Modern Art.

I have twigs in my hair in the wonderworld. You’ll live in me.

A mandala when I die. Which is already happening, said Jessie.

So we rode away on a horse with a broken leg. The red bird, belly full of ants, new mother, my guide to the other side.

Screw that and paint about it. I’m camping in my sleep which means I’m dead. That’s how I “get you there.” By speaking. I know because I love to feel something bent over a fence.

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2 Responses to Wonderworld Mandala

  1. Claudia says:

    Whoa–this piece kicks ass! I LOVE it.


  2. Wow, this piece KICKS ASS! I LOVE LOVE LOVE it.


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