Daniel Johnston is Satan.

beyond the johnsongrass
sorghum hale and pensive and
in a boat on the shadow
of the inflatable dam
they wept
leaves floating tenderly
above their pupils
magnetically seasoned
veins seeking venerable echo
each branching polarity
to hide the vision
of the immaculatent skinned
dam

and sucker mouths festoon
where the high water garlanded
their skeletons
like locusts of love
having left their kind husks
as memories
the sky in fetching ale

otters cradling skinless melons
kissing baby heads like snow
our paddles
heavy transparent glass

and our tears
were obsidian arrow heads
on the shadow of the dam
and dark branches
could be monumental and gothic
how nature is the first hand
experience

falling
to the fish-mouthed moon
the great balloon
and damn
but your jaundiced candor
haunts the window of the lodge

your cold black skis
taking up too much room
our landing by the dock
was messy
in the sloppy bright politics
of this lofty shiftering lilt
of dappled faces
that stare

we are strange bedfellows
at the top of the dam
it's illegal to be here

tattooing songs
to the stars
this unborn lens