Martian Mud

Earth's first cellular life arises from vats of warm, slimy mud fed by volcanically heated steam.

Crawling on my belly through mud, lost, feeling weird there's shit's happenin all-over;  yous chasted by clay Martians, masses of em, colored cells run through you at will.  

Adrift in the mud sea of  Jerusalem B.C, sinking and drowning. eyeballing hectors of houses built of hewn blocks, wooden beams surrounded by a golden brick wall; 1000s of em are there today; hash-daubers-hassidic Jews, all of them MOse.

In Thailand, working a roti stand, selling mud cakes until the bulls show. 

Thai cops look over my passport and lock me up.

I Fortuitously meet a  Thai friend, Buckwheat out in the yard who's in for doin his 14 yr old niece. , 

Henry, I swear she looked 20, she raped me.

Hiding from the bulls behind an Indian tree Wheat produces a pochette of cocaine, which we roll in green leaves and eat.

Walkin the line in D.C, you could say it was a cakewalk, feeling as good as a man can feel, wading through hip knee-deep clag; hitchhiking the streets the architecture is still and dying Greeco Roman, I'm not knocking it, the stuff's stiff.

I meet a cabbage-faced gal at in line waiting for a Big Mac.

She grabs my ass as we walk through the golden arches; we get into her old Plymouth, I sit in the bitch seat and her girlfriend's in the back. 

We drink wine coolers and smoke pot, she has speedballs.

The witch points her claw at the  Washington Monument calling it Big Georgie's cock, offering me a blow job, no shit.

At Mr. Tombs, sitting at the bar I order a Tijuana Mud, a fancy mixed drink.

The crowd in the Tombs is nonexclusive, a motley collection of priests, students, barflies, bohemians, and such. The guy sitting next to me says, 

A man needs a shitload of chaos in himself to create a dancing star, 

I tell the guy, 

I like it, do you write, or do you sit in the bar all day pontificating? 

I take a snort of my drink, cough, and then blow specks of dust in the air; when I wake I'm flying with Angels, it's a glorious feeling, and I never want it to end, then a brute of an Angel broadsides me like a linebacker knocking me to Mars where it's minus 80 degrees Fahrenheit and I fall asleep.

Later, I wake on a sofa of emeralds in the middle of a ring of Martians smiling, and one asks,  

Henry show us your penis, 

I pull it out, it's smaller than average, and the Martians fall down laughing, you tell me why? 

Then one says, 

We don't need cocks to fuck, we sheathe one another in purple rays and have orgasms that last for days, and I say, 

Wow, that's marvelous, anthropoid orgasms only last a few seconds, your culture is snazzy, would you be kind enough to take me home, 

yes, earthling where? 

 323 Conch Ave.

I get into a 2 man craft, and in the time it takes to fry an egg, I'm dropped off at my front door standing there and watching the UFO disappear into the stratosphere. 

Feeling shaky I go to Frank's in Old Town, sit at the bar, and order a boilermaker and when it's served I take a deep pull, over the moon it's not a mug of gumbo, and saying to Frank,

Frank, you would believe where I've traveled over the last 24 hours and I couldn't put it in words anyway.

Yeah sure Henry, sure.