The Great Butcher

Suffocating inside this boring drone,
Drowning,
Jaded.
The terror of disappearing
As one of them
Jolts me.
This fearful march,
No leader but the crowd.
I am watching myself dissolve.
An absence of self,
I bear the mark.
Stamped at birth,
Invisible brand,
Herded to the Great Butcher
Who stands unmerciless,
Cleaver bloodied by my blind brothers.
We dream of sweeter pastures
As we bide our time.
The gate stands open
But dumb and frightened
We pass by with
Nought
But a fleeting glance.

A Series of Haikus

I am a tiger
Hidden in cloak of lambs wool
My roar is a bleat


Disturbance of time
Prods its absurd hot poker
Relativity


My own drummer beats
In places I dare not go
But I watch in hope -

I will chase him down
And march bravely beside him
We will not look back

Roadkill

oh panic
frozen
i am the small rodent
caught in the headlights
of my ambition
roadkill
it will plough me over
if i do not hail it down

Here Is My Grave

here is my grave
overgrown
inscription worn off
they shall not speak my name again
nor remember my deeds
i walked among them
dead before i was gone
my only legacy
in repose
forgotten

Untitled

I don't even know where this came from. I just spat it out one day. And for the life of me I cannot think of a title that would do it justice, nor can I be bothered with capitals or punctuation.

those great monoliths
sprung up
hideous mirages
borne of a thirst we never knew we had
until we saw it
shimmering, beckoning
a haze of desirous glory
displaced livestock moan
as they are shipped off
and axed into the Golden Arches
they longed for home
and they return now
their legacy in a brown paper bag
downed and rotting
in stinking bovine acid
churned, excreted
jiggling in giggling bellies of chubby toddlers
grasping for plastic junk
that is worth more
than the hands that built it
... so they say
this temple of gleaming marble and fluorescence
inside you forget the day
time is irrelevant
that hole in your pockets
don't worry, you'll soon have a spare
nothing ages here
every soul leaves a piece of itself behind
but they are swept up overnight
added up
little posts by doors count them
while faceless suits and ties chuckle
rub their hands together
they salivate, teeth chomping
humanoid machines
every day is the Sabbath
come fill your empty soul
worn down
buy a new one
but always come back
cheated,
sold a dud
forget where you put it?
oh well, who really needs one?
it's not what you really came for
it's not how you get ahead
join the ranks as they march to the beat
of someone else's drum
beating out of time
but some rhythm is better than none
parks used to be our solace
now we waste away idly
oh, don't look so accused
it is the truth
i know. i am there too.
watching myself, watching you
Marx stands by, shaking his head
he sighs at his own ignorance
over a world that did not collapse
it needs no support but envy and the American dream
the escaped old man sits in his hut
but he is lonely on the fringe
divorced from the mechanical heart of his fallen comrades
hypodermic civilization
hopeless addicts
this is it
it has swallowed us
it can spit you out
momentarily, you can find fault
but it is not afraid of regurgitation
a vile creature
but such a pretty face
and seductive smile
she talks behind your back
you're never good enough
but you love to impress her
caught up in her wake
money is our deity
don't pretend it's not
you go to church on Sunday
but where are you when you're not?
do your sons and daughters remember
the late night kisses,
post-bed times whispers
melancholy lullabies deaf in their ears
tales of excuses and "it's for the best"
as you swallow your guilt
promise to change as your turn down the sheets
but back in the corporate grind
come morning, it dripped back in with your coffee
that wipes back the sleep fuzz
false energy
false mind
it's not your own
that was sold with an invisible gavel crash
pulled from the block
slave to a faceless master
you don't dream anymore
ah, but i, ever the foolish hypocrite
i don't detest it
intoxicated i creep from one corner of the earth to another corner
only to find they look the same
and i don't care
i have my latte and a comfortable place to call my home
One Nation under *god
land of the free market capitalism
and once home of the Braves
built on a graveyard
it's ghosts forgotten
and the real God cries in the souls of all men
only to be lost again

The Sound Of Fear Is A G

I read once
The sound of fear is a G,
Strong and quivering.
Press our indented fingers into strings
Until they bleed.
Broken callouses
As I strum out the tune of my existence.
I have no other repertoire.
I forgot the songs of my youth.
I tear at steel,
Helpless,
Until in the dead of night
The strings give way,
As if plucked violently by invisible hands.
Horrible, piercing, haunting;
One by one they go in the darkness.
Suddenly, unexpected
Cracking like fatal thunder
Echoing through my torturous dirge
Unrestful slumber
I play, my instrument breaking down
Until I can play no more

Delirium

We fell from Grace
When we stopped listening
Mistaken,
We thought we could make it on our own.
Turned our back,
Abandoned faith
To taste knowledge without guidance.
Poisoned by unbridled ecstasy of forbidden fruit
We grow bitter.
Give up your dangerous addiction,
This plague of thought
To return to the garden.
To embrace what was never truly lost,
But what faded from sight
In the delirium
Of a juice we could not handle.

My Best Friend Is Faceless

My best friend is faceless,
Though he wears many masks.
His voice is silent
Yet its volume,
Unparalleled
It echoes through
The rocks, the trees, the breeze;
Through steroes,
Cacaphony of children.
He is the sun and the shadow,
An expert at hide and seek,
Hidden yet right in front of your face.
He is never quiet
But we barely listen
Still
He is there

Changeling

dim reminiscence of a haggard mind
drunk on a future
tasted too much
fell from the curb
a gutteral lament
he dreams through salt and snot
the tide that pulls him
the puke of his own wretchedness
he can't stand anymore
outgrew that creaking bicycle
he used to soar
his crutch is a borrowed cane
in debt
he took it out against the price of his innocence
the pure - coveted and mocked,
beat down and bruised,
snatched from cradles
changeling babies
pushed through the veil
stumbling in a world
abandoned
reckless
they pick their poison
and mourn a sorrow
an absence they cannot name

What Would You See?

If you would read me like
A Gypsy's cards
Turn me over in your palms
What would my fortune be?
The Hanged Man
With a fate of Death
Resignation -
It took my last breath.
If you were gifted with hieromancy
Tell me please, what you'd foresee?
My entrails ragged, bloodied and weak
Gravely, you would drag them from me.
If you were a surgeon
And would crack my chest
You'd find a wounded heart
Irregular - it forgot its quest,
Lost in a rhythm
That only brings hurt.
From uncommitted shallow lungs
Comes black tar spewing
As darkness comes.
If you were anybody
What would you see?
And can you say
There is hope for me?

Love Is A Serpent

Love is a serpent
That squeezes and swallows you whole
Nothing is safe when saturated with its venom
As fangs sink deep into flesh
And penetrate veins which give strength
To a heart which may bleed or swell
Depending on a fate which one cannot know

I Am Here

I am here, right now
But I do not know where here is
I am somewhere
Which could be nowhere
Or everywhere
I am here, right now
Are you?

Choke

Today my tongue felt most unnatural
Fat and numb
Hard up against my teeth
Swollen and trapped
Like it did not belong any longer
In its pearl and flesh cavern

My throat seems to swell
And I fear asphyxiation
That I might choke
By means of swallowing
My own blessed instrument

I may gasp as
My passage for air is blocked
From where does this strange affliction arise
And why do I bestow upon it such attention
Am I so afraid of this?
Or do I tempt it?

How do I free myself from this?
Does a warning lie herein?
Speak now or forever hold your peace
Alas, I cannot
I shall tempt fate
Let it do what it will

Desire

My thoughts are naked
As a blue flame
Clandestine
I lay awake plotting my confession
In darkness as red digits
Measure the hours tick over
Desire does not care for sleep
For in sleep it lives uninhibited
By reason and repression
Dream is desire burning

Imitation Of Life

The modern Lolita’s hail to the thief
Of the idols of the glossy weeklies
Souls slip into the great divide
Between desire and reality
Of things that they can never be
Just a copy of a product
A cheap knockoff in chain-store tank tops
And faux diamond drops
This is the new age tragedy
Underage slaves to a machine
They have been in the pockets of
Since separation from the womb
Lost herds parade through air-conditioned markets
Dressed in this seasons must-haves
Fashion is an elusive state
You are not ahead until someone emulates
Imitation is the best form of deception
One more day of fooling and faking your worth
They say: Play the part and you will be somebody

Unravelling

I feel like I am pulling apart my reality
It is unraveling like a sweater
Being ripped apart
Such a weak fabric this existence
Full of holes
We all slip through the gaps

The Greek Statue

Out of sync with this world
As if I might pulsate out of existence
I see the lecturer
A Greek statue
Rendered gray with antiquity
Sculptured still forever
His features molded
Aging in decay
From the battering element of the air
His head rests on his fist
As he ponders the paradoxes of time
The low rumbling chords of the orator
Echo in monotone over tiers of ears
Awaiting answers that cannot be found
For the wisest of men know
That he who admits he does not know
Is the wisest of them all

The Idol and the Martyr

She makes an idol of herself
One who wavers in mirage and myth
Shackled and trapped by her own vanity
She bows to worship at the throne
Every day she makes the sacrifice
She is the lamb to the slaughter
But her prayers are never answered
For her idol is lifeless, a shadow
Only becoming
It rules her life
Yet yields no real power
She is hungry for salvation
But will find no solace
In the face of a hollow god
With dedication she performs her sacred rites
And stands tall against non-believers
She will fight to the death
Only to die a martyr
For a cause that never mattered

Butterflies

Butterflies hatching from their chrysalises
Eager for a spring not yet blossomed
Spreading their restless clumsy wings
They flutter in the brief Indian summer
Only to catch the chill of stolen innocence
Born free before their time
Ravaged by the hands of winter
Which gravitates to the garden masquerade

Rain

I watched as the world flooded
As it tried to drown itself
Waves of rain moving through the air
Such a great deluge
I wondered if it could wash us all clean
But the people they just run indoors
And hide under giant black umbrellas
They wipe their windshields clean
And shake droplets from well-groomed manes
They wraps their thick cloaks around them
So afraid of change
To take it all in
Me?
I would like to walk in the rain
But there is a hollow solitude
Of facing it all alone
So I’ll stay inside
One more time

The Pious Sparrows

Birds congregate in their rising wooden pews
As they sing their praises skyward
To yet another rising sun
They have woken with the dawn
To worship the light that breaks the shadowed heavens
Every night they wait with baited breaths
Hoping the darkness will end
They arise to chirp, thankful for another day
Of daily scraps of bread and wiggly worms to pull from emerald fields
The pious sparrows wake the weary,
Shuttered and blinded to the horizon ablaze
They roll over, groaning for just one more hour without disturbance
From man or creature
Eyes gummed with sleep
He mocks the day as most unnatural
Curse these birds that sing in worship
They wish of night and dreams
Unfettered by boundaries and rules
A king of their minds
They grasp helplessly at the path inward
Birds take to the air in nature’s golden glory
While men only fly in the land of illusion
But day will come to pierce and deflate fantasy
Until the day when man will wake no more