Posts Tagged ‘spoken word’

We/re all dopamine fiends
Squeaky-toy-clean society
Being all that we can be
By any means necessary
Heroin chic
Dead sexy
All hail brain candy
Dismal journey
Scorched paths
Of misery
Tracked by authorities
Entrapped easily
We/ll all pay
For our fantasies
Dead celebrities
Rehabs wealthy
Never mind
Have you loved your T.V. lately?
Growing poverty
Behind door number three
Incarceration recovery
Jailhouse divinity


I knew you were blue
I knew you were down
Before you fell
I knew you
Over the cuckoo’s nest
We once flew
Here to tell you
Again you can to


Back in some lame
Second-rate-state therapy
Drop-out-spoon-fed-social worker
Dime-store psychology
Apathetic antipathy
Vicariously raped
By this voracious machine
Psychologically raped
By community college degrees
There for a check
How about a little
Come back through
Door three in three
& watch
Both their arms bleed
Because who here
Buys the dreams
The television is selling
People are not private profits
Or private property
Un-privatize prisons
There/s a war on drugs
A lot of people are dying
I hear we/re losing
I hear it/s the blind
Leading the blind
In pursuit of dollar SIGNS
Through a disconnected reality
Who we believe
What we dream
Fed intravenously
Via M.T.V.
Rehabilitated dreamers
Supposed to be dreaming
Of coupons redeemed
& register beeps
None dare dream out loud
No questions when nothin/s allowed
No one steps forward
For fear of a scene
Better know thy enemy
They/ll drag you on your knees
Till they smell you bleed
Master Blaster runs
This Barter town


I know what happened
I heard what they did
How you asked for their help
Two weeks before death
How they had no
Hospital beds
Before collecting donations
From your family & friends
After you lay dead


Just tell that bastard doctor
That I am long-gone broken
To galvanize synapses
Readjust me after relapses
Rework my fried circuits
For I twitch
I am sick
Sick of myself
Sick of being sick
Of everyone else
I/m on my knees
Where/s this GOD?
His crack babies are suffering
Crawling on their knees
Fiend-ing patiently
Passing sick time learning
The truths they know
From the lies they learn
Set these illusions on fire
Must let them burn
Don/t know what they/re seeing
Collaborative effort
Silencing expression
Twisted rendition
Convoluting & deforming
The meat plows
Our tax dollars
Pave our streets with junkies
Pharmaceutical cash cows
Competitive markets
Capitalize on the weak|
Poor cannibalize the poor
Prison privatizing
To insane ideals
Prison number
Livestock state seals
How many more must suffer?
They kept pushing
The truth reveals
We are not
What we are
Told we are
Cogs in a machine
Fulfilling unnecessary
Materialistic needs
Breathing-commercials breeding
Individual identities


I often think what you thought
Can’t imagine the pain
As you gathered the rope
From you my thoughts hang


So blast new blood
Through this worn highway of veins
Don/t worry about the stains
Make your own decision
Cease & desist division
Cast off the contrived
Tell someone they/re beautiful
The way they are
The way we all were
Long before being born
Before the heart was torn
Before this bullshit we lovingly adorn
Children that shined like stars
Before the scars
The hocus pocus
B vitamin focus
On the spine breaking
The restless legs shaking
Turn off the television
It can’t light the way
Turn off the television
Revelations start today
& they won’t be televised


crowded city

Stuck, thinking
to my self
it/s not worth the pain
though some moments
are an even exchange
those that chance
the bluest flame
in fact
by will alone I
rearrange to assimilate
following her scent
crawling on our knees
yet, don/t repent
finding God
to lose my self
to have someone
to find
discovery reminds
that levitation
is occurring
dropping feet
back on the ground
do not want
to turn around
will walk away
like it is
not happening.

These Goths…

With their designer clothes.

Designed to look non-designer.

Their mascara running.


Is not America Satanic enough?


Bearing scars,
on infected arms.


Tripped store alarms.


Well-known tricks
that sell their souls quick
for a bag to get off sick.


A land where your existence
can be & is
measured & weighed
to wind up factored
in as an economy.


Do not tell stories
of a dark reality.


The hell with Crowley.


Want it scary?


Journey down into
the heart of darkness,
the INNER city.


Behind every building,
under every bridge,
in every bathroom stall,
are our cities’ deepest pits.


There the dark sits,
the darkness lives.


We need the real Gothic.


Those who burned the body of Percy.


His heart collected,
from the ashes,
of his great funeral fire.


The poet’s heart,
is even more notorious,
for its indifference to flame.


A heart enveloped
in its poem Adonais.


Words which lamented
the untimely death
of a young J. Keats,
& praised his immortal
body of work.


Magnificent lights that never stay with us.


Where are the:
& Wordsworths now?

Who will light the pyre for America?


she IS dying…


Who here will burn their hand,
taking her heart from the embers of the fire?


Who will wrap her heart in the blood-soaked Constitution?


That shining poem…


Written as testimony,
by those that came before:
that they were here,
that they saw truth,
that they would crawl,
in starved agony,
from underneath the tyranny,
of aristocracy.


A call to rise from our knees.


That shining moment…


We still believed,
even after,
this dark wind of apathy,
swept over the streets,
& destroyed our cities.


Now is the time…


We can finally breathe.

Now is the time…


For us to speak.


For us to dream.


Now is the time…


We must die to live again.



©2012 ZENspeak9 publications un/incorporated

The real question will always be,
whether there will ever be,
a re-collection of the mythical realization of life’s true miracles that reality manifests itself from?

All of us,
family in spirit,
carrying within,
an all-informing mythos that compels life to live.

We are not many cells,
with but one function,
co-existing in several bodies.

We are many cells,
in one body,
with different functions that give purpose to our existence.

We are easily dazzled by I-phones and nice cars,
like crows with shiny things;
every time we applaud such things,
we silently mourn the death of our spirit.

We must not measure the worth of a life with material standards.

A REAL love for your self will lead you to love others.

…ME thinks.

She focuses so much on what could happen;
she always misses what is happening.

Smokes so much she makes me want to quit.

An air of ominous doom,
sits as thick as the smoke she exhales.

It’s overwhelmingly depressing.

Anything larger than small doses,
drives one to madness.

I’ve learned to love better from a distance.

I’ve heard insanity defined:
& they say,
Doing the same thing over & over,
& expecting different results.

I say,
that’s not really that crazy.
What’s insane is doing the same thing,

over & over,
knowing the result,
will be the same pain as before,
but doing it in spite of the pain.

They also say,
If you’re not a part of the solution,
you’re a part of the problem.

God, I hope that isn’t so…

Because I just sit & watch,
her deteriorate & disappear.

Down to days on the clock.

Bit by bit…

Piece by piece…

All I do is alleviate.

Damage control.

Make her laugh.

Stress her about my crazy life.

Life is performance ART.


A-WAKE reading + sample from: Styx “Renegade” & Bill Hicks.