the corpulent rosebushes stirred
As time dragged on I felt the slow meandering of oceanic, shattering vibrations
With flesh flayed and spattered out onto the gravelly pavement
Broken and blistered in the barren hovel that men and women call truth
With the weight of monastic guilt and filthy pretense on my shoulders
I broke the back of madness, for fear, for the fat opening of cuts
That bled, tearing, sutured, stained with bandaged innocence
As the daylight spiked into a heat of pain and flesh and disgust
What is the passing over of this viscous, liquid crutch that holds us
Like children, like adult impulse given name and a destination
At the cold, embittered heart of speech grown loud, or maybe else
The burning ambiguity that helps the cripples on the street shout their lies.
As the withering sun turned its head over onto the septic, selfish horizon
With its arms laid neatly beneath the seething mass of clouds and polluted sky
Airing out whatever pleasant theme the faceted, belligerent populace could bear
To hear, to cry for the bothersome, ponderous, dry gargling
Spat forth into the night, breathing copiously and heavier
Than the pulsating, writhing combines could bear
Than the onerous, apathetic will of the people, of the nations great could bear
I counted ten thousand, intent on meaning more than what they could see
Before their eyes, before their hearts gave into the grudging plod
And there I sat watching the flies consume garbage behind the malls
And behind the temples I watched naked skin flay its own fears into nothingness.
As our vicarious lovers lay weeping in the courts of law and trust
They made hovels into homes and called them theirs as they sat pouting hopeless
Weary and breathless in the cold darkness of lunacy and perjury, and there, nude
Skins to the smog and the cigarette smoke drafting in from every crack
In every window that creaked with the walls, snapping in the windy embrace of cold
Tethered by the limitlessness of love and light they were told were present
Even during their blackest horrors and their most terrible mistaken impulses
Painless and pining for the frosty winter to come faster than the glorious spring
So in the ice of new sprouts they could crash cars and explode in righteous faith
Though their pins poked and their shins snapped between metal and teething bones
They crept along silently through their insane, godly wanderings.
As the pointed, poisonous resin of transience slips carefully between our saintly ribs
And the tips of glass slide precariously into the first layers of tissue
Which our crusty exteriors of posturing have held so tight and delicate and close
This cursory affection that has been seamlessly mastered despite ages of turmoil
Becoming as effortless and useless as chipping stone from stone
Collecting the sharpened pieces in canvas bags and heaving them away
We should drop these sacks into chimneys, over jagged, abysmal cliffs
Build homes below the stacks and cracking boulders, an asylum, labyrinthine
Instead of row upon tortuous row of pre-fabrication and incorporated insatiability
Allow our smoke to gust freely in intricate tangles between the mineral fissures
Only in a place such as this might I feel peace despite the fleeting conditions of life.
As the foreign signs and roadmaps gave everyone their potent direction
Their fragrant possibility, their fragile and tenuous importance
I sat, tearful, milking the anger with which I strode across the boundaries
I sat and stared belligerently at the copulating majority as they bred
Incessantly and without modesty, pleasantly and engorged with joyous freedoms
Mounting their wreaths on certain dates and ignoring the rest of the year
That passes without trace or vitality or significance or longevity of moral thoughts
I crouched under the passive concrete bridge and held my yelling breaths in
And I was patient but for the roaring of automobiles and trailers that buzzed
And rang, and blasted my senses with tremors and asphalt, entombed
In their lacking permanence, I discovered my raining doubts and spilling pleasures.
As my weathered, watery heart decried its pathetic, lonely estate
I strode among blizzards and buildings covered in sheets of fabricated wind
Expanding my contempt and swelling tongue, speaking angers of lightness
And the numbness that held my mouth strictly in the presence of failure
I watched passively as the fires of lust and agony consumed my wearisome body
Singing high halleluiah, singing high harmony, singing sacred sanctimony
And brutal determination that washed into a bleak, starry expanse
Quivering with smoke and sparks and delirious infernal discharge
In the tempest of consummate greed, in the heaving breast of failure
I watched the contest of the complete and competitive oath-takers
Dream of catastrophe and bombs, of exploding cars and towers of envy toppling.
As the corpulent rosebushes stirred in the smog-coated breeze
Washing in from the tranquil sea and merging desperately with effluent waste
The spineless worms towed blissful dirt back and forth above the hill’d plains
Metal containers lifted by metal machines, metal chains, iron-clad, forlorn
And the flagrant, youthful howling of curled-back fathers and mothers and children
Who brought fortune and moonlit ruin to each narrow city street, draped in oil
In the shrines of a deadened, lifeless god, a dreary, worthless, loveless god
These disastrous familial groups vanished frantically into a hole in the floor
While their hallucinating, vicious god gazed down in scorn and tired pride
At most an empty husk, at least a long-lost and circular pattern of imagination
And I pushed and I shoved my way through the crowd to the roof, where I fell too.
As the giant mechanical politicians stir emotional discord and bleat “Pity!”
One hundred thousand citizens or more breed and scrape up wooden ladders
In a misguided attempt to climb higher than their brothers and sisters, graven
At the top of each rung is a mausoleum of clutching hands, separated from arms
And shoulders, and bodies, for the rest of these have fallen down, crippled
Sunken beneath the asphalt, beneath the concrete, beneath the dust and the soil
Sunken beneath the layers of bone, piled high from all those shrunken souls
Who called and who culled their meaning from worthlessness and vacant boxes
Wrapping paper, birthdays, blank celebrations and dinners that devoured their own
Trapped inside with fears of death, fears of dark, fears of living free and living fast
And I parried blow with blow, steaming and incensed, filled with rage and liberty.
As viral, pathogenic beliefs were bought and sold by street vendors, small carts
Colourful lips spoke precious lines and bright secrets that only the shadows knew
Off to the side, off in the corners of the alleyways where drunkards slept, cold
And where all the addicts never went; no coffee, acetaminophen, no pacifying falsehood
No peaceful, ignorant, heavenly comfort or wishful, fictitious promise to satisfy
The anxious ecstasy, the restless frenzy of reassurance at Death’s swift approach
For the graceful passing with which, as it hovered adrift, made cycles of life and time
O, reverent bereavement! O, demented mortality! Make martyrs of these shells
Drown these ashen sailors of distress and entomb these embracing liars in mud
Let the Reaper’s claw sow clarity among these belligerent, sadistic men and women
Whose methods and manners I so despise, whose covetous fingers I would break.
As the pillars of dogged temptation are driven deeply with nails into splendid coils
Of twine, of splinters, and of shavings, I pushed over those drowsy crosses
In favour of stony conception and hollow originality, and laid a formless foundation
To rally and to wrestle my deadly impulse, my ragged sense of purpose, into shape
To ravage my treacherous lack and instead exist in both logic and feeling
Rather than succumb to beaten, worn ideologies or gleaming interpretations
And so hopefully assume an overflowing of significance, far beyond capacity
If it is not too lost for us to regain our clutch on the spirit born in dead languages
Then I would nod my head and raise my brow, spitting at those drunk on perversion
Clenching until my knuckles turn white enough for me to strike, hard
And trembling with the stormy bolts of wrath, as they swirl frantically even now.
As the birds built weaving nests from scattered bits of the frames we left behind
And the isolated ribs, clipped fingers, and polished teeth from the lake’s bottom
Diving below the depths, swirling and grey, to break the surface anew
Sending spirals of ripples to collide, bursting and shifting, disturbing the surface
While howling dogs shook their throats and sent out mad wailing shrieks
Sleek black cats rubbed against the bark of drooping willows, dying slowly
And they too were all skin, all bone, all tiny, blistered tracks left in the dirt
All contorted and convoluted, their bodies bent, withered, blank, and blurred
A deliberate progression towards the valley’s edge where a bright demise awaits
In a capillary trail, a pulmonary divide, and the measured stalk of melancholy
That I caress and nurture, fervently holding an inferno for the end of cheerless days.
the wind blows at it all day
gets stomped on
crushed and probably hurt
because who would've known
whether grass have feelings
because they don't care
its insignificantly unimportant
oxygen is what we get and
that's all we need to know
I feel like that sometimes
just being a pushover
since that's what being nice
would give you but it didn't matter
because people ,they
tend to forget what some of the things
that we do for them
and just like grass
((have you seen them rising after
being stepped on))
I would pick myself up
no matter how much
they step on me
and it doesn't change me either
in fact I would still help others
Because that's what grass do
They put others before self
West reality made so
that people forced to consume
whatever material or unmaterial goods
here any protest is legalised
in form of demo
which is necessary surround by police
northeless there are people exist who are illegal
beside of refugees from east lands
there also socalled insane people
who are locked in closed loony bin
or hunted like amok
untill they really get insane
if you take separately each after other
their fate and observe it precise
you will find there all the evil of
what is the consequence of capitalism
which is so masterfully comuflaged in west
but since the victims, the renegades live on rand of society
no one ever take their lifes and deaths under lenses
feminists dont fight for the rights of the debased woman
in their neigbourhood
but just speculate about arbitrageness in Iran
not ever able to change something in afar lands
they simply ignore evil which happens beside them
every day, every night
there is pseudo-publicity in capitalism
since those who rebel against
become mostly so oppressed
that they never ever get any chance to
speak out loud
While those anarchists and punks
who squats in city and towns
will never give political asylum
to the one who's life circumtances
penetrate to be betrayed by friends
living on the streets and parks
and hunted by psychiatry
during anarchists and punks are not
real activists of underground
but just kind of subculture
which live quite comfortably in capitalism
it just funky to be anarchist or punk
and nobody knows how they will act
in critical situation
I lost my believe on socalled leftists
in fact they are same equal part of society
like bankers or yuppies
with a difference that they
pretend they still had some ideals!
Accordingly my individual struggle their claim
is nothing as fallacy
known to many
believed by the few as
whom believe? Whom with resist in action?
Where hides real iconoclasts?
Finding the truth is hard
Observing the decoy is impossible
Returning to reality is difficult
My life can be confusing as
Your life right now, my friend
Fighting all alone at the last
Remaining battle field
Interrupting the peace but
Ending all the greed
Nothing feels so much better than
Doing good things for people
Knowing the truth hurts
Allowing it to devour you
Tells you how much you've learned
Everything is always meant to happen
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
People were drinking
And getting real soused,
The kids were snuggled
All warm in their beds,
While visions of iphones
Danced in their heads,
The stocking were hung
On the wall with a nail,
And boy oh boy how I
Love the Christmas tree smell,
With my Wife in her lingerie
And me with my sack,
We rolled a fat blunt
And it knocked us out flat,
When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang up and told my wife
Go see whats the matter
When what to my
Wondering eyes did appear,
It was Jenna Jamison
And the Three Musketeers,
I sat there and laughed in spite of myself,
As my wife drove off with a fat little elf,
Jenna came in and opened her bag,
Made two fat lines, it was all that she had,
Then laying a finger on the side of her nose,
She snorted a line and up the chimney she rose,
And I heard her exclaim as she rode out of site,
Next time I come have some cash
And now have a good night!!!
I feel like I am lying,
as I write poems about people
writing in the first person,
making it seem as though this is me.
"Art is the lie that tells the truth,"
Indeed, it is.
For only through my
can I set free
My minds filled with word banks
the ink spills, the words paint
a collage of love and hate,
Do you believe that destiny is the same as fate?
I write because something inside of me wants to escape.
Confiding in writing my thoughts often keep me awake.
Wake and bake.
Underneath you right now the earth shakes.
Time will tell if I will float or if I'll sank.
I use to meditate with Swisher's filled with Mary Jane.
Temporarily paralyzing the thoughts I think.
Leaving my dreams suspended we in a police state.
They're slowly building a fence around and locking the gate.
A fish in these waters I seen so many take the bait.
We all replaceable babies born to take our place.
Stay confident like Babe when I step up to the plate.
I'm freeing my people from mental slavery everyday.
I know Harriet and Sojourner would be proud of Me
I'm risking my freedom for people that I aint' even met
My mother would like me to join forces and become a vet
But I'm expressing thoughts that have the FEDS coming at your neck.
Like Martin, Malcolm, and Johnny was all put in check,
At times I wonder who is next?
For the three men above all I have is respect. They showed
Courage Peace and Love feelings I can emulate, reflect
cause in the face of Fear you have to learn and adapt.
Expect the unexpected and maintain aware developed minds
avoiding traps and filthy raps slowing down the hands of time
My brain starts to tingle I can feel it calculating rhymes
like news producers silence the truth and
constantly turning up the lies.
Dying is inevitable, Lives flash before our eyes.
Her skins as dark as the universe and her eyes as blue as the sky.
I've been through the lowest of lows that's why I'm constantly getting high
to ease the pain and break the chains I spread my wings to fly
to an eminent death when there's nothing left I love ones start to cry
and the only thing we can do about it is ask the Lord Whyyy?
"Yea, my country tis of thee, Sweet land of kill em all and let em die.
God Bless America"- Lil Wayne
They asked me how
in the corners of the classrooms,
in the deserted halls,
"how do two girls do it?"
As if that is any of their business,
what two people did in bed.
I wanted to say,
It is not what you do
or how you do it,
it is why you do it and the
love you feel for the beautiful girl
but I didn't
They victimize the victims and
they glorify the killers
yet don't realize what symptoms
has the youngsters pulling triggers
Little girls becoming strippers
just so they can make some figures
guess they missed the bigger picture
My knowledge helps reconsider
A country man at heart
with street smarts like city slickers
I'll leave you looking ignorant
you think that I'm a nigger
The last man to kill his own people
name was Hitler.
I'm more mysterious then that
compare to Jack the Ripper.
The Frustration Is driving me insane
I thought you was Abel turned out to be Cain.
Sometimes I want to push you in front of a train but
that would be to easy these days seem so much the same
Patience is a virtue yes I'm frustrated and may hurt you
only to feel bad because the human in me hurts too
My quest for happiness is like a trek to find the end of a rainbow
I've lost my light and my path I don't know which way to go.
Seems a lot of people would like to see me fail and
well I've done just that and somehow avoided jail
It's a wonder I'm still alive seems it's not my time to die
I bottle up emotions and at random moments I cry.
Used, abandoned, No one came to pay my ransom
Now damaged, unrepairable, but still somewhat handsome
Life threw me a fastball and I struck out a few times
my days are filled with lust No wonder I learned to rhyme
trying to climb my way out of my hole hoping this may be my gold
I haven't accomplished much of anything at 23 years old
Yes, I've wrote a bunch of non sense
but it has brought me not one cents and
I'm actually in debt for sharing my two cents.
My life is like a comedy I, myself laugh maniacally
at one point someone thought I was inspiring.
I try and stay optimistic hoping to ease this stress
as I feel the rope tightening around my neck.
The lightning bolts my only hope the reason I log on
if you didn't give me strength there's no way I could write on...
Thank you to everyone for your support and love
it goes along way.