Be it a spirit as provocateur or a
savior as a catalyst, the light that seems
to breathe upon the pavement of the roads
alights through the stale pornography of
the city, and still, it infinitely (or in jest?)
Delivers the promise of something- something...
If, then, I partake in the ingestion of sustenance
through a straw, while brain aches, melancholic-
if my jaw is wired shut, it is only through hardship;
and its sinew and muscles will be stiffened only by
the secretive nature of sorrow.
savior as a catalyst, the light that seems
to breathe upon the pavement of the roads
alights through the stale pornography of
the city, and still, it infinitely (or in jest?)
Delivers the promise of something- something...
If, then, I partake in the ingestion of sustenance
through a straw, while brain aches, melancholic-
if my jaw is wired shut, it is only through hardship;
and its sinew and muscles will be stiffened only by
the secretive nature of sorrow.
With no regard to lend consistency, my progressive
thoughts will yet exhume their party from the fallen
dust of absence and they will align themselves with revolution’s
wisdom; and in such times, beneath the beatific
glower of the moon, I often fail to fathom how even these
many regenerated cells could hold such
massive feelings of love.
How have I come to see
torment and exhaustion wax a Nirvana like resignation?
How have I seen it-
In the very way that the overt preservation of life begins to
resemble death.
“So where is it, then, that you are going?” a strange
companion once asked...
dust of absence and they will align themselves with revolution’s
wisdom; and in such times, beneath the beatific
glower of the moon, I often fail to fathom how even these
many regenerated cells could hold such
massive feelings of love.
How have I come to see
torment and exhaustion wax a Nirvana like resignation?
How have I seen it-
In the very way that the overt preservation of life begins to
resemble death.
“So where is it, then, that you are going?” a strange
companion once asked...
“If only to kiss the sea…” I
answered...
While there exists this anti-matter, let there be matter!
While there exists this anti-matter, let there be matter!
Do not let the waste of callousness keep us from the beach.
And worry not- how this sun will murder us regardless
of atmospheric conditions,
eventually;
so if we’ve not yet liberated completely our killer madness by then,
we shall be baked out of existence.
Yet these holy demons have such feet,
AND I AM ALIVE- I breathe
and you
you comprehend this!
your mind pushes fluids!
So take your love and keep it close to your heart, as
a slumbering cat, and in its consciousness of pleasure- let it purr.
We took such steps upon the moon
to find what we can of infinity
in possibility
and only the weight of probability
inhibits our way.
Yet even that obstacle
can be overcome.
So then why do you still burn, O, human?
Why, still, the hungry result of
immolation?
Still, mercurial venom like madness seeps into our
minds.
Fingers and limbs fight for room in such an expanse
and souls foam with the froth of rage
as the mind’s belly rumbles-
discontented.
Would the poet then in this time chime only lullabies
in spying
the butterfly- ignoring the minds that design
the many fuses of bombs?
Orpheus: tranquilizer or public crier?
Minerva: appeaser or informant?
Far jaded by the bourgeois concepts of heroics,
I will go- walk beside those who too aspire in search for
the lasting spirit devoid of such vile mutations.
the lasting spirit devoid of such vile mutations.
We- to be us, what a feat!
To be those expunged completely by betterment sought
through ourselves- with possibility for all!
With a uniform we call sincerity, to plunge into the
colonies of butchers,
and brush off billboards depicting images
of strewn up prophets in horrific torture...
And despite their boasts of possessing “the way”,
we know well that the path to the future
lies not beneath the agony of the past, but beyond it...
Ceremonious, it would seem, O, you puppets of Moloch-
O, you whores of mammon, that our portions of sorrow should be
relived repeatedly...
But alas!
Your powers end
where our shared tragedy as humanity begins,
and so it is- in such a way that your gods of envy and avarice
are served their deaths...
To be those expunged completely by betterment sought
through ourselves- with possibility for all!
With a uniform we call sincerity, to plunge into the
colonies of butchers,
and brush off billboards depicting images
of strewn up prophets in horrific torture...
And despite their boasts of possessing “the way”,
we know well that the path to the future
lies not beneath the agony of the past, but beyond it...
Ceremonious, it would seem, O, you puppets of Moloch-
O, you whores of mammon, that our portions of sorrow should be
relived repeatedly...
But alas!
Your powers end
where our shared tragedy as humanity begins,
and so it is- in such a way that your gods of envy and avarice
are served their deaths...
