Asphalt, steaming screams swear words
The offensive smell of pavement post downpour
I think I’d like life better if it rhymed
The chatter and clatter mad hatters me
Sleepless and hopeless with Romans
And their online roads and aqueducts
They slither and snake but there is no more wild in the west
Automated scarecrows with AR-15’s stand guard
O’er amber waves of grain
Eyes open for outlaws and injuns
Cattle ranching of the future
Feeding the world one cubic meter of methane at a time

two lovers making love in a Ritz room
life is heaven, but for whom?
a government official returns to his family
life is heaven, but for whom?
gods watch in pleasure from far up above
heaven is life, but for whom?

houses made of thin sheets of metal
life is heaven, but for whom?
wooden beds and endless drops of sweat
life is heaven, but for whom?

words of love and tender affection
life is heaven, but only for some
fancy dinners and bottles of wine
life is heaven, but only for some

as for the rest,
I needn't say

To live for oneself is not selfish:
It is human.
To live for others
Is purpose.

we burn the skeletons
of creatures buried deeper than
the fallen stars that took them
pouring them into our automobiles
so they can take us to the places they roamed

skeletons can't talk
but we tell their stories amidst the quiet
they left us

i wonder if we got them right

Can you believe?
I almost let a ******* job blow my brains out
steal me from my kids and love
this system rots us inside out

it makes us dissolve and **** our selves back through a straw
and say we still aren't enough
the catharsis of it all is slipping
oozing through life not on our terms
this capital is rot incarnate.
Death encapsulated in a hermetic chamber

I breathed my last labored breath face beneath a pillow
and woke up to failure
a failure that could start the rest of life
failing up for us
is giving into the quit.

Brain unlocked, heart bound in broken promises
to children and now fear of lack of value
and resource to feed them full.

This prison immolated
crystal chandelier  impaling
only pretty to them
when stained with our blood
soaked geometry splattered
tessellated across the porcelain walls

they only smile when we weep

staring at us in our cage
as we writhe
and they dine
on the blood of our infants
on their labor not yet
realized.

Eating our children and us
right before our eyes
out of the sunlight

they only laugh when we have nothing
they only feel when we hurt
they're only full when we are starving
only sated when we need.

monstrous predators of money
and greed
they only smile when we bleed

Money no object?

Ah! That is a confession!


You're an enemy!

Naivety with

large lots of lead in a barn –


that makes a goldmine!

The greatest mastery of self
is to do nothing.
We are doers
programmed to do,
to solve, to be busy
creating problems
just to solve them
rewarding ourselves
with ever more destructive prizes.
We congratulate ourselves
for our compulsive expenditure
like an addict congratulating
themselves for turning back
to the needle.

We are all addicts.

The true anarchist
does nothing.