You got a taste as
The teeth sank in.
A Mouthful of guts.
Spitting Ravenous,
Hungry savage.

Chase em with
the noose tied.
Burn a house down
with a family inside.
No escaping this time.

Sparks. Shatter. Glass.
The hateful gather.
Tongues pointed, lusted.
Mob Justice...

Deny. Deny.
A distended death cry.
Woke with the taste of blood,
and never know why.

"Got carried away"
"Just a little mistake."
"A good person, I swear."
"You just had to be there."

"The blood. The blood."
"Was all up in my head"
"You didn't hear what they said."
"Guilt is dispersed."
"You can't blame me."
"I'm just one of the many."

Retract. Retract.
Rejects those facts.
"What you saw was fake."
"We were heroes that day."
"Propaganda, you see."
"What was done unto them,
was done unto me!"

Forgive and Full Pardon.
"We were right! We were right!"
"What fire? What night?"
No screams. No bodies.
No guilt in sight.
No Justice.
No...
Just...

It just wanted to exist,
beyond the desire,
but it's tired now.
Sighing.
Quieter.

"Do it again."
"Stand in the rain."
"Nothing ever changes."
"They always look the same."

You want it to scream,
         "SURVIVE, YOU *******!"
                 like it used to do.
(When it made decisions for you.)

But what wakes you now
is only the resounding
echo.

Why do I only trust _ ?
Metaphor obscures,
Aesthetic dilutes
intent.

In summer’s garden witness:
A brightening twine,
Along with elder brother,
Two bees fighting.

There,
a battle seemed unnatural.

Toiled once in unison,
But here they tousled.
Buzzing.

Hive and Harmony.
Discordant.
Buzzing.

Efferent corbiculae,
Of twelve legs,
Of a thousand eyes.

A brightening twine.
Two bees fighting.

Their
battle is unnatural.

Can you show me
The only way?
Do you know it?
Can we go
Together?
Is it heaven today
When it rains forever?

To true believe
Consciously,
I sleep under
Hypocrisy,

And wonder.

Hypocrisy
Make a fool of me.

And the good will acting,
Acting selfishly,
And the boulder rolling,
rolling, falling.

No real desire,
But to push again.
The myth of nihilism.
Where all I find is much
too much.

Then what is this call?

I need another name,
but "God".
Of "Him" I cannot drink.
Or "death drive", or "entropy",
Or a "sharp wave cascade",
Or the "heat death of the universe"
Theory.

Belief.

Hypocrisy.

Abandon all ye subtext
all them who dare enter there.

They do deserve to be picked apart,
not to be danced around.

Look a Neo-Fascist in the eye
and tell them who they are.

Make them Sieg Heil
as many times as it takes
for them to know
they actually mean it.

Like a little child who
smokes a pack of cigarettes.
They're gonna like it
or *****.

an absence of your presence
is another neural taboo
a place i won't go
i won't wonder where
arcs that electricity
i cut it at the nerve
ending in the place i don't look
but each thought dismissed
is not transcendent
it adds to the heap
i'm not prepared for
grief.

Tired of the
People
Rapping
on the window.
Running through
Room,
After empty room,
After empty room.
Where
did all the people go?

I've searched all ways
but behind me.
I hope
they never find me.
Do Not Turn Around.
I run through empty room,
After empty room,
Do Not Turn Around.
After empty room,
I Am Found—

I forage the grove,
or grave
of tangled thought.

Like a wild wood
what grows there,
was not planted.

Seeds are scattered,
thriving, but entwined
along the animal path.

The birdsong carries
a distant echo...

     memory...

       ...the detritus
          of what I know.

It's always angry little boys
who make the choices
in Turnip Town.
Focusing on what they're not,
fear and hate's all they got.
So, burn it all down?

The Flaming Phoenix Rises from the Ashes Once Again My Word!
What did they do to that poor bird?
Its distended neck throbs, sickly and withered.
Congested Heart beating an arrhythmic dirge.

"FREEEDOMMMM" it ekes out,
but the cry is pinched at the end,
squealing like a sad balloon.

"GLOOORRRRYYY" it begs,
like a whining siren,
but no one can look it in the eye anymore.

Say, phoenix, maybe you should take a break.
Maybe this cry for glory is why you keep bursting into flames.

And each time you burn,
you do not return
stronger.

Everything you take
with you
stays dead.

A planet of trash,
I lay underneath.
The filth runneth over
to where I sleep.
In humanity's discarded
roiling heap,
a toll of their sins
is what I keep.

-

On Planet Trash,
I live beneath,
a most revolting,
and glorious heap.
No one can see me
where I sleep,
but my acquaintances,
they soon will meet.

-

My Planet of Trash,
I give to thee,
more than I
could ever keep.
You know now where
my secret sleeps.
Take all
that's left of me.

May the edges of my intellect only be eroded by the efforts of oceans. A fortress of stone enduring endless waves but never breaking. Only successive shedding so imperceptible that time before forgets its form.

A poison seed is furtive in neglected soil.

From scorched earth it emerges with the aroma of cunning veracity.

But no truth will grow.

Pardon me, sir.
Could you direct me toward the exit?
I seem to be lost in here—
oh...
You're just my shadow.
Well...
do you know?

(Shadow Sighing)
Of course, sir.
Follow me.
Right this way.
Mind the gap.
Mind the trash.
Mind the forty year impasse.
Mind the—

(Interrupting)
Pardon me, Sir
I was asking for the exit,
not a lecture—
oh...
Hold on,
there's a phone call.

(Shadow Waits)
I—think you have the wrong number.
Uh, Shadow, do you know a Jod—I mean God?

(Shadow shrugs)
Yeah. No. Sorry.
Uh, y—you have a blessed day, too.
So...

About that exit.
Wh—
Shadow?

Where'd you go?

He knows your desires.
He know your hopes and dreams.
He knows that you know
He is not what he seems.

Your hope is so great,
you will not see his smirk.
When he winks at your faith,
you will take him at his word.

When reality serves
his unsavory dish,
Know you have been
as deceived as you wish.

I do. I do.
I do care.

Though not-doing
is the guilt I bare

My inaction leads
to things undone.

The shame I feel
for things un-won.

Can I be
as I'm perceived?
(The face they see.)

For once, just let me—
please.

I'll admit that rhyme and meter don't mean too much to me
I like the flow of words without structural integrity
If it rolls off my tongue but lands on deaf ears
Blibbity dibbity doo da dib da diminy
who cares...

Reward system's been ******.
Once we had too much.
Now, not enough.
We're gonna need a hard reset.
Definitely not looking forward to that.

Why aren't you as scared as me?

Many things unseen are lurking in my periphery.

Your absence of belief does not reprieve of this insistency.

Whistling in the night, I walk toward the face I see

In shadows cast by flames so bright that darkness undertakes the

Harrowed, narrowed journey through esophagus and kidney.

A poison quaff of mother's liquor tastes, absorbed, incendiary

Avails but mine eyes to see that superfluous villainy

And its cutting undercurrent of all things heavenly

With flames engulfing peeling back my superstitious fantasy

I'll wrap myself in fear again to mask my shunned reality

each day it passes by
at six forty five

At first I woke from its growling intent
A cough, a sputter, a resonant hum
vibration thrumming in the hollow walls of this wooden cave I share with them.

Now I rise before it comes.
Though in years I have not heard it.
The anticipation propels my receptors
to action.

It will be today.

A sculptor sees form beneath stone,
and essence emerges from discarding.

But this hammer was not wielded by expert hands.
Material has been carelessly cast away.

What remains is fractured, uneven, and lopsided,
with one eye far lower than the other,
and a contorted expression that is both
proud in posture, but slack in repose.

A master sculptor would call it a lost cause.
A sophomoric effort.
An amateur's attempt at boldness.

And they are correct.

But perhaps the medium can be changed.
Alchemical processes can turn stone to plasticine—
elastic plasticity that graciously conforms
to the will that shapes it.

Though there is little to work with,
the stone can be softened,
and new forms can be.

Why is the bottom always there?
Climb or jump, or flee in terror.

It rises with me and within,
and compels me to ascend.

Forty years, the tower rise—
Just a plaque that says, “Here lies...

Human, tyrant, coward, sleeper.
Only fear is digging deeper.

Trumpets blare triumphantly
for a rising, sadistic hierarchy.
(A not-so-subtle loss of dignity.)

Tragic wailing in major key.
A shrieking anthem of humanity.
(With catharsis ringing hollow, and empty.)

A spinning head chants endlessly,
insisting upon divinity,
while heralding apocalyptic certainty
with glee.

The choir sings in unity
exalting this reality:
A savage world of property,
and greed induced asymmetry.

The crescendo peaks to poverty,
to impossible depths of cruelty,
and banal acceptance of brutality.

Attuned to this society
the choir submits consensually.
(There is no escape for me.)

Yet I hear a counter-melody,
trilling away in minor key.
Time dissolves belief.
Ellipses march on to eternity.

Sad notes in the song of humanity...

Hello.
I am another man
screaming "oppression".

My outrage is clearly justified,
because they don't make movies
about my fantasies anymore.

Where all God's
good little boys
and girls knew
their place in
the great society.

Where living meant
dying for the cause
of people who looked
and thought like me.

Where evil was black
and good wore white hats.

Where glory
and moral certainty
protected me
from the bad guys,
and the bad thoughts.

Filthy C---sucker *****—
Oh, excuse me.
I'm so sorry.
(No I'm not.)

You should have known...

It's for your own good
when I take this throne.

I shall cast my moral
judgement down upon
thine aesthetic value!

I shall condemn any
who deny that which
I know to be true!

Let renewed doctrine shine,
an effervescent, blinding light
of right and wrong,
and leave my enemies BURNING!


But, take heart, soft thing.


Within my
glorious wisdom
there is no
hypocrisy.

Take my
firm and gentle
hand
to guide
thee...

Let's go to the movies!

—

Prepare your ***** for the rise of Fundamentalist Christian Cinema.
Coming Soon to Theaters Near You!
Written by Men Who Hate Women and Jews.

I know you're tired.
Do not worry.
I'll do the thinking for you.

Not inspired?
There's no hurry.
Just sip another snake-juice.

When prescribed
that sweetest slurry,
you'll know exactly what to do .

Your tongues were tied
in fervent worry,
but these words will see you through.

Your greatest enemy is doubt.
You can choose what you believe.
Know only what's in your heart,
Do not trust the truth you see.

Know my name,
and spread it well.
But salvation has a fee.

With your payment
made in full,
Drink salvation on thy tiny screen.

See.
See The Prophecy.
The self-fulfilled
apocalypse,
waving the flag
of surrender
before the
blow lands.

They stand,
posturing,
fist raised,
waiting,
for you
to cower,
before they
press it down.

Outrage,
hammered silent
by the one
who proclaims
their own
valor.
Villainous.
See no other.

Love the butterfly.
Set it free.

You.
Know.
There is real
"Truth"
to be found
outside
quotations.

Don't abandon me.

Narcissist, I could not be,
for I don't love the one I see.

A subject greedy for introspection,
delightedly needy for inner-reflection.

Whose deeds or needs will always depend
upon on how they feel right now, or when

the gleaming impulse sends its signals
into the open, gaping, waiting amygdala.

Opportunity, I wait for me.
Myself, exploiting me, for money.
Six billion mouths to feed.
Or a ---thousand. (that was hyperbole)

Do you see how I self-deflected?
When my inner introspec-detective,
Neared too close to the inner-inner-reflective
introspective objective?
****.
I'm a narcissist.

sleep and dream of sugar plum dumplings
and dripping ******* dangling to suckle
with your pursed mouth in a perfect “euuuooo”.

what troubles you, o perfect man?
cause man you are,
and man, you are a ****,
and also the president.

I was hoping to meet an artist—
instead, I met an aesthetic,
head buried under platitudes,
vapidly shaped
and formed
to fit that mold.

Parceled, packaged,
and cleanly sold
for easy access.

Defined by lack of contrast,
and saccharine yearning
for the past.

There’s no going back.

Hey!
I did not mean to startle
       you so clearly armed.

I only wished to say,
“Hey! Hello. Don’t shoot me.
                Do you think it will rain today?"

A friend says it, then.
All I see is escapism.
As fast as legs can carry him.
He is what he's fleeing from.

Inner peace?
Certainty?
"What will be will be?"
Make a trope of tragedy.

Hope dies.  
I live.
All I've ever been.
Illusion keeping on.

Delusion keeping on.

Reality made me
and everything I want to see,
I want to see.

It's good to have an adversary.
Just make it someone else.
Someone to be better than,
while measuring yourself.

Rise to meet their challenge,
measure-up, and balance-to.
The comparison may reveal
your intrinsic inner value.

But when the numbers fail to balance,
and the weight is never fair,
and no matter what you sacrifice,
they'll never meet you there...

Know you've always walked
along a path of your own glory.
Your struggle is but yours alone,
and only you know the story.

Self-endure your mindful yearning.
Strive relentlessly.
Rigorously self-critique
your deepest ideology.

Come to know your inner-most,
as you tackle loss within.
But remember who you were
before comparing Self to Them.

I can only walk like I'm dancing
I can only speak in poetry

otherwise
My body is rigid

otherwise
My tongue is frozen

maybe
Truth has never been my destination

maybe
Truth is just a flourish in my journey

Either way I'm dancing
and I'm talkin like I got somewhere to be.

My anxiety is furrowed
Too cowardly to stray from the neural trenches I have dug
Dopamine, what have you done!?


Emptiness...
There's nothing like that non-existent void I've never seen.

I'll never be the man I've never--been.

Brain, what am I now?

Sparks. Noise. Entropy.
An engine burning. Dying. Disrepaired.
But a flame still wants to dream!

Emptiness?!
Maybe it's not for me!
Forget who you are or should be!
Be. Be. Be. Be. Be. Be Be be

Sipping black bitterness to read more bad news I should spit it out!

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

The film of shame atop my tiny pleasure does not compel my altruism to drop it.

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

Is my consumerist loop inertia
to imbibe that which I know is wrong
So beguiling it has become
my greatest good?

Shut up and Enjoy
Shut up and Enjoy

Hedonistic nihilism
Fervent anti-capitalism
Humanistic utilitarianism
Democratic socialism

All better with a coffee in my hand.

Coffee coffee coffee
The bitter swill enlightening,
delighting my daily misery.

Sunyata i will never be
Though the path is clear before me...

You wouldn't like this body without its
conscious integrity.

Hello.
I am ready.
(Teach me a new delusion.)
The mind is so full,
but the heart is so empty.

Now must be
the time to accept,
any old myth
that I used to reject.

Fill my emptiness
with delusional bliss.
Give me an enemy
for my bullets to miss.

I'll fire my gun,
rife with belief.
And drift upon
pillows of doubtless sleep.

Knowing that I,
for once, am right.
Having chosen to follow
that arbitrary light.

That dragon's not my adversary,
That dragon's my most loyal friend.

Always there to catch me,
(Like the bottom of a well)

I descend,
and it's leathered wings curl
around my mind.

In that place
   I am fine.

   I am
      at ease.

(But it's not me.)

When allowed,
that spooling dragon wraps
into my consciousness.
It feels like bliss.

We sail through every fantasy
delighted by each novelty,
subtle and obscure,
permissive and demure.
That dragon purrs.

The sound,
a grating staccato,
withering heartbeat,
with a red face of glory.

I vanquish and devour,
but as I conquer I'm consumed.

It's too late to pull away.

The talons found their purchase.
The flames their tinder.
Ignition.


And once the ash has cleared
And all's laid bare to see...

That dragon's not my friend.
It's not my enemy.
(It's me.)

A fissure in the ice kneading.
The land mass receding.
The creaking floorboard.

No longer in my conscious register,
the sound becomes a rhythm to which
I live.

In rending,
splitting,
click-ticking,
gradual,
infinitesimal
increments-

In cartilaginous pops I dance
along to the sound that I ignore...
The creaking floorboard.

On the way back from the abyss,
the dramatist starts and fits,
"Put me back in the black again,"
with squeezed fists and limp wrists.

The darling's staple diet of bad news,
black coffee and sweet candy
kept their spirit sickly.
Obviously.

Exposed to blaring overcast,
the dramatist retracts,
surprisingly intact.
In fact stronger than before
now in their validation.

Returned to comfy pit,
went the dramatist.
For the pit inhibits
in consistency.

No new delights,
or flights of fancy.
Not to be caught
between what's seen
with eyes shut,
or what they see.

The dramatist,
in the blackened emptiness,
will never notice
when they've passed
the horizon.

It's a big cartoon map of the world.
Tragedy emblazoned with bright colors.
The patriotic eagle selling you fluff.
Ornaments of suffering.
Divided by thick red lines,
Each nation is reduced into an effigy.
Remember when this waterslide
was a mass grave?
You bow your head
for a moment
of silence.

Then...

get up,
get down,
dig deep!
turn 'round!
Ya can't stop!  
raise ya hands!
get on, y'all
tragedy dance!

This flag, ya!
You know the one.
Hee-ya! (kicks)
Gonna get you!
Alright.

This morn,
instead of nails,
I added to my
breakfast gruel,
three raisins.

Their sweetness,
I'd enjoy,
were my mouth
not full,
of lacerations.

I shall watch them all fall.

My spire has no guardian.
My soul no judgement.

Glory is a peak to crumble.

Your face is familiar to me.
This light before has played along your contours.
This air has molded to your voice.

Your shadows are reflections,
And your echoes are embedded
In my stone.
In our stone.

Digging unexploded ordnance
on a mountain of corpses,
but the view is amazing.

and
though aware,
the absurdity overflows
to despair

my life
has only trained me
to feel at odds
with what's out there

I began,
petty, indulgent,
with a dream to fulfil.
Building places to hide,
to protect my child mind.
The wish, instilled
longing
with no plan.
"**** the boy,
become a man."
bound in duty
twisting enjoyment
to what task
he is unsuited.

Now that cruelty owns the day and night
my shame is for my petty plights.
This life I spent
belaboring,
and savoring
my own productivity.
Creatively struggling
just to be
a member
of society.
Why didn't they tell me it was just a joke?
Those who have will have some more,  
and the rest of the poor folk...

Though we are of the same substance,
the space between our atoms
can never be together.

To bridge this void, I invented meaning,
shouting animal sounds and symbols.

We press our bodies to one another,

but this fantasy is an interpretation
of your movement,

and this dance is an attempt
to realize unconscious ideals.

Knowing or unknowing...
this distance can never be crossed...

But the void draws me close.

I think I’ll still call this love.