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?