Not smart enough.

Not straight enough.

Not fake enough.

Not big enough.

Not poor enough.

Not rich enough.

Not gay enough.

No label.

Pressure pounding,

get in where you fit in.

Feel a freak.

EMPTY

ALONE

DIVIDE

CONQUER

Addiction always accepts applicants.

We DEAD

We EASY

Never mind pharmaceuticals

on every corner,

every billboard,

every commercial,

smiles for tears.

Never mind the food industry

your dinner full of chemicals,

years upon years.

Did they really think this wouldn/t change things?

Not alter physiology?

There is a disenfranchised army

of genetically altered mutants

wandering the streets these daze.

Terrifying the machine.

They can start it.

They can contain it.

They can lie to us about it.

They can throw us in

PRISONS.

But they can not

CONTROL

it.

PHENOMENOLOGY.

You are a small part

of a great-big

divine consciousness.

Do not ever forget:

WHO YOU ARE.

WHO YOU WERE.

WHO YOU CAN BE.

Maybe 2012 was the end,

of a programmed-bullshit-commercial-reality,

fed to us intravenously,

ALPHA WAVES

permeating pores.

There are no beginnings without ends

END…

 

A curled-up mutt,
on the side of the road,
waiting to die.

Nursed to health by the kindness of others.

People that had every reason to spit.

As much in our hearts to care as it is in our nature to hurt.

Power sleeps in our hearts.

Many feel powerless;
everyone & everything,
has a say in the direction of life,
but those whose life it is.

The corporate community wants a world without spirituality.

Without hope.

To all look & think the same.

Unable to do anything for ourselves.

Needing the corporations to do it for us.

This ultramodern-social structure being imposed is unnatural.

Individuality fades away.

In this some are thriving.

They don/t want to rock the boat.

Why would they?

Hope they understand they/re an endangered species.

One day…
…it/ll be sink or swim with the rest of us.

II

I love my fucking city.

Every day I watch a little more of it burn away.

If their world is a stage,
& I/m but an actor in a play,
I want a new disguise.

Tired of the makeup that hides the lines.

But I am happy for these guys.

A show of hands.

How they find ways to profit under any circumstance.

Employment opportunities suffering creates.

It/s great.

People die here.

Controlled by fear.

No clear destination.

This is what happens when you let yourself be taxed without representation.

We nodded off at the wheel.

We missed out on the NEW deal.

We got kicked in the gut.

We have to wake up.

 

Gothic America

Posted: April 14, 2014 in Poetry
Tags:

Goths…
designer clothes
designed to look
non-designer
mascara running

Is not America satanic?

Bear scars
infected arms
triggered alarms
known tricks
sell their souls
quite quick
for a bag
get off sick
where existence
is measured & weighed
factored as economy
you/re telling me
about dark reality

Fuck Crowley.

Want scary
…heart of darkness
the INNER city
behind buildings
under bridges
inside bathroom stalls
are our cities’ deepest pits
where real darkness sits

Where are the true Gothic?

Those who burned
the body of Percy
his heart collected
from the ashes
of the funeral fire
human heart notorious
for it’s difficulty
to burn properly
before encompassed
by Adonais
wrote for legacy
& tragic friends

Lights that never stay with us.

Where are the:
Keats & Byrons & Shelleys & Coleridges now?

Who will light the pyre for America?

For poetry IS dying…
who here will burn their hand
taking the red-white-blue
from the embers of the fire
wrapping it in
the blood-soaked constitution

My Silent Forest

Posted: April 8, 2014 in Poetry
Tags:

They tell a good story

Talk a lot, forget

…but I remember

Seeing either the back of her

Or the back of his hand

Never good looks at the face

Be no fair trial for them

Police sketch I/ll trace

I am awake

Still see the pictures hanging

Feel them staring down on me

Cool air so clean, so quiet

Simply deceiving

Hidden horror the fans echo

Listening; knowing sleep/d be soon

& that stale room

Memory loom

I am awake

Remember being strapped down

A room with no windows

Other than one on the door

Covered with a piece of paper

Blank & taped &

Secured from other side

A doctor finally came

Had a real colorful tie

I am awake

The fever that builds & burns

Everything; incinerating

Anything, in its wake

Can not speak its name

Once exorcised

Its reach is legion

A mighty foe I/ve made

Fear gives it reasons

I am awake

Anxiety crashing from crescendo

Living, running, knowing

Any moment may be the last

Breath breathed freely

Streets are never far behind

But you can/t stop

The power of Christ compels you

Better off in a padded room

Nothing but time to think it through

I am awake

The concrete madness

Of thieves & rapists & murderers

& a guy that tried

To staple children to the floor

A horror show where everyone is a maestro;

A virtuoso; connoisseur of the cuisine

Friendships reduced to potato chips

Where all there is, is a dream

I am awake

To those sad faces we lost

Forever slipped through sands of time

For it all to be so simple

Just getting what you give

Bodies demised, bruised & riddled

Rendered memories in sacristies

Some do not live

Only here to take

But now we are awake…

We Already Are Who We Are

Posted: April 7, 2014 in Poetry
Tags:

Power of the prodigal
returns
feelings
from a lost lifetime

resurface as a life
renewed
begins
to surge
crying out
for forgotten kingdoms
void of material
the world as it is
fears that which has nothing
to lose penniless
but priceless. 

Her fire tempers steel
powers we all wield
resurrect thyself
it can/t be explained
rebirth is earned
baptized through fire
these sins we purge
to ascend from circles
back to the land
of the truly lost
entombed fabrications
commercial realities
where every act of love
has a cost
a price tag
a stop sign
a do not step
over that line.

Here I find myself
amongst men
of manufactured identities
manifestations mistook
for individuality
soon it is I
who curses my return. 

A journey darkly
illuminates where light
finds rest never
to see things the same
inspiring passions
in boy kings
songs they sing
my best poetry
moments creating motion
& legends. 

We, the weak
that sought no reward
are of little avail
we all pursue
our empty quests
in one form
or another
lords of kingdoms
princes of thieves
we/re all seeking
Holy Grails. 

I will kill my-self
so as not to
trouble others
with the burden of murder
graciously leave
with loves lost too soon
leaving for the shores
of Avalon
to draw from
winter waters
to extinguish
infernal burns
go gently gather
my ashes from the lands
they/ve been scattered
collecting them in Grecian urns.

 

Write For You Not Them

Posted: April 1, 2014 in Poetry
Tags:

For the life of me,
I can not comprehend,
this infatuation with writing that is only acceptable if it is wrote the exact way we are told to write it;
like:
Who are they to come at us with a system designed to make a handful of wealthy elites appear more intelligent than the rest of us?

& who are the traitorous pussy-writers that go along with this cozy-safe system?

If we can communicate cohesive ideas,
without all the bells & whistles attached to this liver spotted-literary system,
so be it.

Don/t let sounding smart
tank your material.

Some think that art is for the refined alone,
the rich;
but,
the poor are the ones with the stories;
so,
what the fuck are we waiting for?

Let the lunatics run the asylum down here.

 

QUICK-fIX Consciousness

Posted: April 1, 2014 in Poetry
Tags:

Indra,
web connected consciousness;
all of us waves
rising & falling,
back into the ocean,
barely measuring
on spectrographs of time.

Their world/s a trip
while seen through
the eyes of a lifetime.

Micro-macrocosm-
-opening eyes of a child,
one day we see difference
in those that grew with us:
getting sick,
getting old,
dying.

Experience experiences
till one day
your world has changed
& the past fell
far behind.

No longer a fix
to merely exist.

You are who
you make you.

slEEpdEEp