It's funny, those mirror images. Small bracelets of macaroni-turned jewels,
Costly and pointless. Plastic race cars that mom and dad bought me
Zooming around and breaking vases that once
Held cigarette ash. Flowers wrote an essay on lung cancer,
A peer who, on a high night, was put into the vase.
Flora lungs are surreal.
Imagine a flower the shape of me: my blue hair and eyes the petals and bud,
My body a stem and lungs are the leaves,
Ripped out of my sternum and strewn into the antigravity that surrounds me.
A mirror image in another world,
But somehow not the same. Like nuns and whores both
Screaming to God as their tits are groped and abused.
Collisions with the coffee table tip the coughing flower and let sailors tug on the ropes,
Sailing on the sea of liquid ash and sing "yo-no yo-ho" all the way to the white carpet.
A memorial. To the woman who was saved hereby flashing lights and muffled sirens,
The drugs were too heavy.
And then we sit playing scrabble and watching the news. Oh that poor girl.
It doesn't matter though. It is far enough away to only think of palindromes to click in the
Plastic squares, a perfect fit for a triple word score.
But the score doesn't matter. It is what the word represents.
Reviver: one who brings back.
A necromancer? The zombified critters under the stairs because you felt bad about killing them.
They ate your food, but you conducted a mass murder with that sweet poison that crystallizes
Their blood. Their parallel selves are still alive aren't they? The realms are separated by a thread,
Nothing more, so why must they be dead?
Why must they be characters in a movie? Everything is a lie, even the
Letters laid on the game board.
The words we speak is a made up language, the god most believe in
Is a figment of imagination. And so is mine. They are just creatures
Written in a book by drunken sailors, man himself,
Or warped versions of a goddess created by hags, high of of the leaves
Vining in their flowerbeds. Clouds came down because of the warm brandy and
Smoke from their pipes, polluted and dirty.
Fog does not belong here, this Christmas, but at least it will mask the brick wall that
Everyone seems to crash into.
It is a theory of course; people with glass skulls and hollow brains won't live through it,
But it is worth a shot. No one knows whether you will be crushed, or the wall.
On the other side, the other half of the world, the mirrored side,
Exactly the same as the one behind. Nothing new, but everything to see. You haven't looked until
You've seen the opposite of yourself.
I coughed up a lung
Trying to talk to you today
Looking at you over there
I know what it is you're trying to play
But right now, I'm leaving
And I'm not sure I'm gone
And then I'm in my car and weaving
Through the icy streets with the heat on
I really thought I knew who you were
The 1 to my 1 that makes one two
I just shook my head when I heard for sure
I don't know how I didn't have a clue
All my walls are dripping navy blue
Down through the waves just trying to get you
You are my sweet double-etendre
But where do you start and begin?
You say one thing and start to cry
Where is the place that we're headed?
You never hear me out and you never tell me why
Is it that you've been having second thoughts again?
I'm packing it in not because I want, but I have to
Will you think of me in the future as a friend?
The end seems bitter but the bitter isn't always the end
I would call it love.
If you would-
It would validate every feeling
I feel when you are away
I think it would
Remind me that we are two
In a sick body we named the world
And even through you call me heart
And I call you lung
And even though we aren’t in the same place
In this body
I still pump blood for you
And you still filter air for me
And I’d call that love
If you would.
Coughing up a lung,
sticking out my tongue.
Looking up her skirt,
dropped my pencil in the dirt.
Watching movies just for fun,
I will never own a gun.
Cat shit on the floor,
kicked it out the door.
Jake The Snake and The Macho Man,
will forever be a wresting fan.
Heavy metal and hard rock,
Skid Row's singer was Sebastian Bach.
New Jersey's pizza is the best,
it would beat New York's in any taste test.
Slept with girls, I didn't like,
soon after, I made them take a hike.
Never slept with a man,
if the money was right, I guess I can.
Love all my family and friends,
mess with them and I will defends.
Done some killer drugs,
stuck screwdrivers in some plugs.
I love paper, I love pen,
I'm more smart than the Three Wise Men.
Pina Colada's in Margaitaville,
then I take the bitter pill.
I still love eighties music,
it's relaxing and therapeutic.
Baseball is my favorite sport,
the Phillies, I will always support.
The next Super Bowl will be held in San Quentin,
porno girls take it on the chin.
I had a few nervous breakdowns,
I've put on a few to many pounds.
Allen does what Allen wants,
how's that for my final response.
the beast howls the serpents home
sends fire up the spine of anyone
dare enough to be brave and dare me
terror amplified by the terror it tried
to feed me, a dish of my own tongue
proper etiquette my mouth is mutual
hand gun presently displayed at his funeral
open casket hide the wound he was shooting from
at open lung hide this toxicity toxicology talk
st peter knows opiates like i know opiates
Check your pulse to assure yourself that you are indeed alive and be ready
I’m willing to sell addiction
If the price is right
Instead of crawling on my hands and knees
Searching for a miniscule income
Love is an empty word
That allows me to rip your insides
And still have you apologize for getting my hand dirty
I’ll keep every apology locked away
And stick you on the bull’s-eye
Running from laughable low level law enforcers
Dressed in blue with loaded guns and meaningless badges
Cackling the whole way through
Smiling at all my adversaries
Knowing the annihilation of us both is soon to come
As the maniacal militia stand trespassing in our yard waiting to open fire
The ravaged highways are under construction
Demolishing the concept of one’s self to rebuild in the image of a complete stranger
Unleashing accusations upon unsuspecting stargazers
Underneath the cold thick skin, holding back scorn, plans of vengeance, violent bouts with sadness and ethical turmoil
Putting on a mask of struggling smiles, lung crushing phony laughter
And the tight gripping of tears, the strenuous task that is always present
Putting this act because society tells us to shut up, get over it, move on and forget about it
With no one taking the time to sit down and help someone who is knocking on their impending doom’s door
By going over everything calmly piece by piece
Until it’s too late and there’s dead bodies on the floor of a movie theater riddles with bullets and people choking on some kind of poison gas
The misleading of corporate heads and politicians overshadowed by the distractions of “disasters”
So we can’t see the real big picture
Their whole careers can be light up in flames faster than the forged paper work they put in
Meanwhile the poverty stricken orphaned children look to the neon sky praying to a god who’s existence is debated denounced right before their eyes as if it was a fairytale fable with out a moral
And the troubled youths, the kids being pumped with prescriptions
Hoping someday something will rescue them for the madness within themselves
Request for atonement
Is eradication of an opponent really a triumph?
To expire in a collision
Young and drunk
Cutting deep like a spiteful stab wound
While wearing a three piece suite
Choosing suffering over nothingness
But to fight for the privilege we had in front of us
Disregarding the cost to get there
Detonate the entire thing
And view this vignette from your fallout shelter crossing your fingers that you’ll still be hear when all is unspoken and still undone
Grazing off the Screen
the little things that you sometimes wrote
I came to collect and keep close
So slow, does my lung breath
as a palpitating tremor
and stirred within
the mind that thinks
"when will it come?"
My tears from crying
"will I detect"
"if I shall have expected it to arrive"
In sugar cubes
complete, and on time
as diamond brick streets
to tumble down as ice to melt
down my cheeks into my mouth
or welled up in pools
or on diving boards
with clay platforms
spongy stone floors
Blowing back and forth the reeds
to feel the river pour
as a wheat mill to turn in torque
to establish the width and paddled
chore to show off as a nimbly plotted
game of over lapping arrows and empty treasure troves;
of the destitute dialogue dominoes.
After the first sleep comes the second morning,
the realm of meditative calm,
gifts we forgot we left ourselves,
in the time that time forgot,
in the lands we left behind.
In Tibet, the most skilled monks cover
great distances using the mantra
of the Lung Gom, a rhythmic matrix
leap. i use a car or my
memory to achieve the same.
As a child i captured fireflies from
my grandmother's back yard,
holding them captive in a jar
until they proved themselves,
making me their Gom Jabbar.
Now later along i feel the vibration
of life in my car as i drive.
i have no wish to synchronize
with it. My rebellious days
are mostly over, or few in number.
My subconsciousness has accepted
my inevitable death. That is
alignment enough, nature's Gom
Jabbar to my neck, regardless
of what i prove before.
Like the fireflies in the jar.
Like the death rattle of my car.
Like the memories i sought,
struggling against union,
fearing the Gom Jabbar,
mouthing the Lung Gom.
Gom Jabbar => in the Dune series by Frank Herbert: the deadliest poison in the universe, administered by means of a needle prick mounted on a thimble. It is used as a punishment for failing the test of humanity (meaning that the loser is not human, but animal).
Somewhere along the way we must have split a pole
My soul is full of holes, walking on pins and needles trying to reach our goals
In a fit of passion I rationed the pit of my cherry flavored heart
Beaten but not broken I am outspoken by my pain, it reigns over my tongue
Not my decision to run and now I'm having an asthma attack, breaking free from each lung
The fat lady has sung in the blackest pitch and one day you'll understand why I matched the note
Soon to be sailing separate seas it's sad to say, my love, we are no longer in the same boat
Tied together the strings were snatched,
a witch of which her heart detached,
the locket on her sleeve yet broken in despair,
love is true; always rare.
Love is a lie,
a cut this knife deep into my skin,
say a prayer I bleed and then begin,
I pray to god forgive thy sin on a sinners thought,
the decay from your words in my lungs as they rot.
I die another day and wake anew,
fresh on my breath the name of who,
who is distraught to keep the wisdom of words,
this knot in my stomach it churns and churns,
fucking behemoth burn, burn, burn!
I die another day and awake to anew,
dead room doubt I held my breath then blew,
I sought another perk yet hiking up your skirt,
I crawl a blade up serine within,
inevitable and diabolic,
blood boiling up enraging and oncotic!
Harlots are one to come and blame,
you live in shame,
just another breath left from my tongue,
another puncture wound left in my lung.