i miss the drunk i miss the fiend i miss the simplicity of addiction and the scene i miss wandering aimlessly in half dead sewers with rats for eyes chewing on forgiveness and the will to apologize i miss the return of no return as i burn in avalanche of white snow and yellow cocaine i miss talking to brick walls while following the grain and human dolls as i plagiarize myself like a dummy stuffed with counterfeit money for cairo and black honey i miss illusions begging to be chased even as they disappear into me erased until there is no one or nothing but the chase and a powdery ghost with no face or faith and the woman of my dream disappearing without grace i miss the zoo i miss the zoo i miss the zoo i miss evolving into a cloud of blue marijuana blown from the lips of hookers and pimps as they smack each other down in alleys for the dammed but mighty with no one but the weak around and the beautiful unsightly i miss numb neanderthals marching in rows of living dead from my wisdom teeth to spain and back again in my head i miss salvation in syringes and angels of mercy in blooms of smoke numbing rain which drinks when thirsty i miss glasses full of spirits who without tongues speak to me of napoleons wild nights i miss staying up for days and becoming a psychic pretzel flying kites chewed on by a zulu heading with toads to mars a mysterious prison and one without bars i miss the zoo i miss the zoo i miss the zoo i miss waking in the arms of strangers like puppies just born in the pound to a dead mother with eyes sealed shut looking for a tit to suck and other dangers when only the night before laughter was the only pursuit even as knives carved up our backs and demons sat like buddhas eating fruit meditating on hate forever in our minds i miss exposing my bones and the need that rewinds even my burning home even my gutted inner child even my dead grandfather beneath the ground that s wild even my criminal family even my weedwacker thoughts whipping a thin plastic string to cut the ears of others as i sing i miss van gogh s revenge i miss his nightly binge i miss spiders surrounding my bed and lifting me as if an effigy or a dead king or a prophet of doom a jesus for the apocalypse wearing dirt like perfume or a mother for satan or a ghost for all the children of abuse and taking me into the fire watching me burn like a goose as they sing in spider voices there goes creation there goes the moon there goes the butterfly wanting a cocoon i miss being a bloom and a goon too soon in the afternoon a doctor of regret hanging onto guitar strings in tune and hanging by a belt wrapped around some pipe to nowhere and felt my lips too wrapped around what appears to be stained glass as religious figures dress like rocks with class burn into gas to the center of my brain the euphoria of dying and being born all at once while wearing the hat that reads dunce i miss the zoo i miss the zoo i miss the zoo