stains right through a.m. sky
so the atmosphere
looks weird today.
The forecast calls for heat again;
that silent, seething drum that beats
the blood-drenched dollar sky--
beats out a March of Ages--
beats us copper lumps to shape.
The shelf we Occupy on this drifting
westward continent, constructed from
the flesh that fell from our fathers' hands,
from the bones of distant lands
becomes a dusty storage closet
for the corpses of our days
That's supply and demand, kid.
What's a life but flesh-time?
And what's time if not money?
Nothing is anything
You. Are money.
Sleep well tonight. And set your clock.
You gotta work to buy their robots
that rape Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike)
Sink real slow beneath the surface
of that rising ocean of noise--
growing louder--hot air melting ice caps.
Watch that boiling, acid ocean
roll in on the tide and sink
beneath the waves of noise--
of monotone voices--
sawdust seasoning on cardboard--
crying, "These colors don't run!"
and, "Stand your ground!"
and for fun, when bored, answer the
Call of Duty.
It's that silent, seething drum
beating 'gainst THE TERRORISTS
while we deny the summer heat
as we sweat in SUPERBOWL SUNDAY dreams,
Like it beat against the COMMUNISTS
through all our TOP GUN weekends,
Like it drums up portraits of
vampire fanged IMMIGRANTS
while we guzzle our BEER
and sweat beneath those acne-scarred skies
on the FOURTH OF JULY.
Sleep well tonight
And set your clock.
Don't wanna be late for work,
to buy their robots that rape Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike).
What's that hum outside your window tonight,
beneath the blood-drenched dollar sky?
Two villages coexisted peacefully, no interactions
maybe some discussion on boundaries, treaties for peace and trade.
An extraneous rumor appeared in one of these villages.
No one was sure where it had started.
Someone mentioned they had seen beastly faces emerge in the night horizon.
The whispers made its way through
soon the town was mortified.
The others, they were observing us.
What could they want that they could not communicate overtly?
The villagers made a decision to protect themselves,
their happiness –their status quo
that had been so well kept; now jeopardized by fear.
Traders continued their interactions,
sharing goods and language.
The ignorant village heard the small-talk,
the covert operations the coinciding people had been ruminating about.
The newly-informed town magnified and mutated
the folk were riddled with anxiety.
If their neighbors were under threat,
what was stopping them from being the next target?
This xenophobia was to destroy them.
The two ostracized each other;
initial misperception grew
to a common hallucination amongst the people,
they prepared for the worst scenario.
As humanity goes,
somewhere a zero-sum game emerged.
A council was held,
all that they had known was their own home
and the adjacent peoples.
There was nothing else in the known world,
it must be the others.
They are planning on something villainous,
why else the secrecy?
Cut trade, be vigilant, ostracize.
The other village noticed something amiss
Calamity must be in path.
Taking up arms, arranging a force to handle any offenses, and establishing a wall;
they would not fall.
Feud was conceived.
This is the drive of a mind
who incessantly wonders why and how
a devouring morality.
I digress from the story: the villages, armed and defense ready,
see the village that they once knew as peaceful neutrals
once tranquilly existed transformed to potential threats
for they could overthrow the opposing village.
I should be unconquerable
but I know the kisses stealing my breath come with every
exhale; my kryptonite is facing life.
I choose to face that fiend
which wouldn’t let me actually give up when there is so much unknown out there.
It’ll haunt me with the damages that I dealt to the allure yet provocation preserves me.
The two villages are within me.
One is the soul depleting, ego-hunting energy suck,
the other is the false hope that I
can change things-
that things are within my control-
that I’ll fake a smile and a real one will appear.
Two hemispheres connected in a skull,
failing to synchronize
a miscalculating rational with a quixotic imaginative vision.
These two villages smoulder;
the clashes zigzag my intentions.
I just wish I knew
what that fictitious, fruit of the grapevine generated monster even was.
It’s been ages since this conflict ignited,
I don’t think any villager knows why they fight each other perpetually,
other than survival.
What hurt the most was not that she was mean
Or that coarse speech stumbled into his lot
Or that she scarcely gave him a second thought.
Not that she made a mockery of his love,
Denied his dreams so many stars or wings
Or diverted him from some angelic host -
None of these, I gather, hurt the most.
What did was her role as the autumn wind
Complementing, coaxing off the autumn leaf,
Confirming what long had been his belief.
He wanted love though he had none to give;
He wanted some luminous otherness
To grant him feathers so that he could live.
He had hoped for a king's crown from without,
Yet she followed his mind's vibrations
In feeding or nurturing his self-doubt.
He may have longed for otherwise,
Imagining warm understanding in her eyes
Yet she walked as a cool law of this life, this earth
Mirroring his estimation of his worth.