Archive for June, 2013

Someone is hurting somebody
While saying,
Just doing my job
& no one is helping
Because it’s not their job
& millions are afraid to speak of it,
For they may lose their jobs
So it is,
We’ve sold our souls in silence
A system of servile compliance
Dim embers, still they burn
Fire with the potential to be
Conflagration on the plantations of economic slavery
Fuck it…
I’ll bite the first bullet and lead
Just need to know,
Who will stand up after they take me?



©2012 zenspeak9 publications un/incorporated


are the ends,
of the ties,
that we found.



becomes scarce,
the further,
we abscond.



with no wind,
can’t begin,
without fare.



& just past,
the dead last,
in nowhere.



stale crying,
just passing,
empty times.



for more life,
as we vie,
with these rhymes.



when we fly,
staying high,



as we pair,
just to bear,
through the straights.

©2012 zenspeak9 publications un/incorporated

Let me be free
I’ll trade my cellphone & laptop
For a spear & loincloth
Let us go back
To those archaic times
Of tribal conflicts
& the great hunt
Let the buildings fall to ruin
The population dwindle
The bureaucrats lose their power
Strength & character are our GOD
Not material wealth

The boys of the Bear clan
We will run & stalk
As the girls of the Eagle clan
Gather & cheer
Our return to camp
With the great kill

No bills
No genetically modified diseases
No phony media monitoring


A shout breaks me from reverie. I’m sitting on a curb, covered in grease and grease burns.

HEY, what are you doing?
A cop shouts to me from his police car stopped three feet from the curb upon which I sit.

Waiting to go back into work. I’m on break.
But I want to say,
I’m working. I know it must seem strange to a public OFFICIAL such as yourself, that there are still some people who have to work at jobs that do not entail driving around in air-conditioned vehicles and harassing taxpaying citizens. Yes good sir, some of us have to work to pay for your pensioned salary.
But of course, I do not.

You got any identification?


He throws his car in park and his driver side door open. He grabs the door frame to help hoist his corpulent body out the vehicle.

Apex predators these days.

Saving Messiahs

Posted: June 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

ZENstreet Media

Lost in a sea of ambiguity

Vagueness the blanket

That envelopes me

Still and stagnant

Like the womb of being

Waiting to be born

Again and again

Drawn from a dark substance

And cast into a world

Of gravity and balance

Legs heavy and aching

Unfit for standing

For what I believe

Hearing an inner voice

Belonging to the hands

That pull me from the womb

Telling me to walk

Supporting me till I succeed

Guiding me from the warm tomb

Urging me to stay in the fight

I take a lifetime to adjust

I wipe the dirt from the mirror

I focus my sight

And gaze upon

The eyes of my savior

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We lost a great mind the other day. Richard Matheson, author, passed away at age 87. If you’re asking yourself who the hell this is, you probably already know him. Many of his works have translated to screen; Twilight Zone, I Am Legend, Stir of Echoes, The Shrinking Man, Hell House, and What Dreams May Come are a few of his successes. He worked with some of the greatest in the industry, a list that included Stephen King and Stephen Spielberg. Though, he will be remembered in popular culture for his contributions to film and television, this guy was a phenomenal writer, and a profound influence on generations of writers(King included).

I had hopes, oh God, what hopes I had. I was going to write prose that would make people sit up and gasp. I was going to tell them things they needed badly to know. I was going to tell them in so entertaining a way that they would never realize that the truth was getting to them. I was going to create immortal works.

Now, when I die, I shall only be dead. I am trapped in this depressing village, entombed in a college of science where men gape at dust and do not even know that there are stars above their heads.

-Mad House 1953-

Searching for the sweet elusive at 120 miles per hour…

-Dance Of The Dead 1954-

Man, I’m going to miss that guy…



As his nights slowly
     become her days

& the tether between
     snaps & fades

She made him as sharp
     as dull razor blades

We say we will
     but we’ll never change

He sits at the bottom
    of the shower

Minute after minute
     hour after hour

& though it helps
    with the aches

Her scent it won’t
     wash away

Genuflects & supplicates
     he tries to pray

But the Christ
     don’t want him anyway

So he twists
     as he breaks

Into shapes
      he couldn’t possibly make


Love has become our new magic

For each other we all perform

We pray the next is different

We always find out it’s a trick


Yet, stupid with astonishment

Desperate to know the secret

& against all admonishment

We still beg for enlightenment


Whether we’re shown or being told

The secret is always revealed

& so it changes how we feel

That magic grows tired & old


In fact that trick now makes us sick

A spinning spiral so tragic

Nevermore, will it be the same

We only got ourselves to blame


Human hearts need to be deceived

It makes them beat & still believe

In miracles, through which they feed

Without stories, but tragedies

©2012 zenspeak9 publications un/incorporated