In the eye of we the peoples,
    In the overblown blasphemous
Political whirlwind,
    We have dug up Rage:
In the empty theatrical deities
     The idols explode
And spit on the origins of forefathers,
      In love with their own *****
The fountain of verbiage overflowing with
     Truncated quotations,
The people leeches become sharpened
By lies and pockets filled
By industrious rats,
     These juggling ideologies
Play the frustration of the suffering
    Like strings on a stained violin,
     Paradise of caged freedoms,
Stairway of repetitions,
   They paint Messiah over
Their foreheads,
We drink of the fountains
Of bitter water,
We crown the snakes and surprisingly
Ideally we are shocked
To be bitten.
    The fire speaks words of water
And the river ends in a fall,
     Canes and Abels,
Over and over ,
Into the storm we run,
Spinning darkness from light,
     As we drink
We must ask:

Where is the other water?

Drop twenty dollars in my hand
we can both be friends,
just twenty dollars for tonight
until the evening ends

you ask me why
it has to be this way,

all I can tell you
is
night is from day

drop twenty dollars in my hand

we can dance
to the band

twenty dollars
what it takes
to take the aches away

you ask me why,
but you know
what I will say,

you ask me why
I tell you
night is from day

twenty dollar is the rate
for the cabaret
just twenty dollar for the night
take my ache away.

In the mortuary

where death is quite acceptable

but not compulsory

I

resist the urge to abrogate responsibility

and learn my lines.




There are times to breathe and not believe and times that both are true

as a rule

I choose one of the two,




the hand of fate would make a date but trust is not his name,

ask him where's his other hand or are

they both one and the same?




..and if I lay down on a slab

they'll say,




dead?, but he looks fab




I have to say that I agree

when I am in

the mortuary.

How long does your will run?
Does it bleed through the horizon,
persistently pursuing the setting sun?
Or does it waver in the summer heat
radiating off of these endless streets?
Is it all a mirage, a dream undreamt
from each late night's waking sleep?
How long does your will run,
because mine's only skin deep.

It wasn't until they pretended to love me
That I felt the most alone.

Take this boy
Holes in his shoes
Holes in his clothes
Hand me down rags

Greed turned this boy to man

Take this man
Gold in his hands
Diamonds in his hair
Destruction in his soul

Death turned this man to ashes

Take these ashes
Fluid on a wind
Lost without all
Nothing that will be missed

Time turned these ashes to memory

Memory of a boy
Hope reflects upon his ***** face
corruption cleans the dirt
And leaves the monster