I am a gash of yellow teeth
in a mouth that loves to speak
I am silence and noise
I am a sentence and a silhoutte
Kneeling on the curbside
playing with pocket change and loose cow teeth
I am a shadow in the hotel hallway standing on ancient soaked carpet
Carrying the thoughts in my head in my hands
tied with invisible wonder
Destiny strings me along a path
"I think this one is for you"
Fortune's mailman, carrying a bit of given truth
I am just the windsong on the harp.
I walk to nowhere and back again in the space of a yard
I am chained by these rhymes and the urge to make match!
The fluidity of these lines watered down with easy similarity
Pleasant is the end of life with a simple quatrain
Predictable, reliable. Unnatural, nor powerful
This pitiful vehicle for purpose is surrendered.
We stumble our beautiful broken paths
finding warmth in clasped hands and tangled legs
Smiling and crying under blindfolds, a crowd stumbling towards the slaughter.
The merciful one, the grand architect, the shepherd
peels us from the flock.
Towards unknown pastures.
I will miss your warmth.
I will miss you.
You cannot paint the whole world with a single horse-hair. Maybe we read too much into brash strokes, seeing only one hair's impact at a time. See the forest, see the trees, see each individual leaf, but also the water that fed the seeds and the wind that bent the boughs. Witness its birth and death, its possible futures, a thousand million lifetimes, timelines, generations, ancestors--
It is too much to consider. The artist must act. And it is always perfect.
Take some time
to make some lies
the prettier the better
thought down to the letter
But fuck it all
I don't need reason nor rhyme
the paint of the time
is vigor and vine
So let it flow
Let it
fall all the way down
Let it
Grow
From the corpses we all know
If it's too hard to see
Take another hit of hypocrisy
Because madness is all around us
All you have to do is
reach out.
And listen.
and the world will split in two
one long red carpet path
Here is your first step.
Blue descent
Open skies, wide with heavenly glass
Illuminated by a bold white
Casting away shadows and clouds
Beating its authority on copper sands
Warm to the touch
sifting softly
Creatures struggle with their thirst
Knowing morning will come (bringing dew)
Clutching scant shade
under the watchful brilliant sun
Mountains linger like the backs of men
marching into the distance.
There is a fragment of truth, an ounce of sincerity, in an ocean of endless waves of delusion and hysteria, porn and advertisement, wickedness and deceit. (Like scum on the water) Entertainment, a grand disctraction, to encapsulate the viewer and distribute morsels of emotion tied to strings of madness. The algorithm is your puppeteer, you gave him control.
Electricity and signals in the darkness, illustrating and outlining form, but defined by a lack, a 0, a silence. The digital age of enlightenment, showcased in darkness.
Thrill junkie, chasing hours for a single hit, benumbed by overexposure. A simple diagnoses of addiction.
Drink the blackness of the night
The bitter dregs of daylight
Refusing to release my grip on the wake
Knowing the shadows lie in wait
TO invade my so-called dreams
I'll take it with sugar and lots of cream.
If we're all public pretenders
Is society a masquerade?
In which case waltz with a ghost
Offenders, join the pariah parade!
Save the good intentions
Pretense for the cunning knave
Make no fool of me
I'd rather not be a slave
chained to well-doers
I'd rather dance on their grave.
Society's a bitch,
that's all I have to say.
What have I to say that hasn't already been said? One voice in a sea of voices, a face in a mountain of heads, a drop in the storm. Roaring, the many of misery, we crash into the beach like thousands of grains of glass.
A shadow cannot cast new light like you have done for me, and I do not wish to share my darkness with you.
But what else do I have to give?
a tirade from a self-made victim
the off-color thoughts of a lunatic
spittle of a delusional narcissistic martyr
Grasping at straws like a drowning sailor, I've lost myself and the seas show no mercy. Thrown to the waves, cast to the sky, mishandled like a child, helpless to the cruel whims of the tide. Afore long, I have lost my grip and sink to the troubled depths.
There is comfort in the dark. How pitiful. Abandoned all hope and it stays, an unwanted stray. Embrace the end. Annihilate the self. And there I find the silent spark that guides me to my feet. That lifts me above the water.
I could not have hoped to be saved. When I stopped floundering in my foolish pride, my desperate self-preservation, my animal-instinct-ego, God reached out with kind hands and pulled me from the fire. (And blew the glass)
How could I have expected it?
How could I not have expected it?
I am breathing, so I must be alive.
I am alive, so I must have a purpose.
Sincerity is temporary.
Irony is forever