And they sat as equals in the first times. Those who measured the eons as days. The Morningstar and their Creator, watching the People. They will love what I gave them. The sun, the earth, the air, and the water. Their love will be praise, their tribute to my Creation. The Morningstar, keener in the ways of the People, disagreed. No, some will see your gifts as their blessings, and theirs alone. They will band in like mind and hate others for their ways of praise. They will become keepers of their own truths. Liars in guise of your Word. Their praise will become death. This they will call Religion. As they spake, it became so, and the Devil was born. Hell soon followed, in the wake of the Morningstar.

Hey you
don't you
Hide and Seek
in my driveway
don't play there
don't you
drive there

I'll have to
put a bullet in
you

Hey you
don't open
my car door
don't you
sit there
don't you
dare

I'll have to
put a bullet in
you

Hey you
don't knock
at my
house door
don't you
put your
hand there
don't you
dare
touch
there

I'll have to
put a bullet in
you

I don't like
you
I'm scared of
you
And since I can't
put IT in
you

I'll have to put
a bullet in
you

fish
they just see the
bait
they don't take the
time
to look down the
line

Give me your tired
I will exhaust them
Give me your poor
I will leave them destitute
Give me your huddled and hungry
I will leave them freezing and starved
Give me
Gimme
Gimme
Gimme
Texas fried chicken

The fairytale of America
is dead to me
Killed by a ******* in horns
Maybe my veil has simply been lifted
Long has it been so for others
while still others never knew
its comforting shade
A reverence as meaningful now
as that for Santa Claus
Was my faith so brittle so ignorant
Is it still
Seems so
**** I don't know
I need to visit those stones again
let them speak through the cold
They were never silent but
maybe now I won't be deaf to their story
maybe now I'll listen
maybe now

Holy wars
Holy land
*******
that is some
toxic *******
Unholy desert
sand

Bizarre
that the moon can conjure such dread
Peel you to the bone

People want clarity
not truth
The resolution of
confusion
whether or not
resolution
reflects
reality
If the threshold for
resolution
is just enough
to whet
the mind
then the interpretation
becomes
fact
becomes
reality
becomes
so
Besides
what is our reality
if not
an interpretation
wrought by
the mind

Macrame for days
cruising in tubes
and fannypacks
on Caddy couches

Ash in Pepsi cans
dogs n mac
and
floral print velour
meant love

A onetwo on
Soda Popinsky
and locust
husks
on the old
walnut tree
were the
****

New Topps
new Jos
new Raisins
air conditioning
and the smell of the
rain

subscriptions
prescriptions
fictions
suspicions
and opinions
but nary
a *******
solution

Ol' yam ****
the twitter ****
did love a young
and hairless cat
but in fits
his wits
he nightly shat
when revealed they
precisely that

They will lie
and lie
and lie
and lie
and lie you safely
in
your
grave

Funny
I thought
McConnell's lips
would have been
orange

War
is a weak man's
perception of power

And we so loved
the children
that gladly
we gave them
to Tlaloc
that old heathen
sovereign of the storm
lest the NOAA
be thought
woke and wasteful
Golf must be played
afterall
delights entertained
appetites sated
pundits appea$ed
The usual T&P in place
of true help

Data are our commodity
Data are our prize and prison
Data are our salvation and tyranny
Data are the reflections
The great mathemagicians
all seem to
Lose their ****
The closer they are to
Universal understanding
Implies a biversal triversal quadraversal
Melange
Data clarity breeds madness nearer
The Singularity
Kaczynski the bibomber tribomber
Dreaded qudrabomber
In orange
The spice is the worm
The worm is the spice
****** Space Jesus over here

Witchy gray
on this
Stevie Nicks day
betwixt this
froggy soup
of a bay
and its
tributary of
cricks
choked with
denizen ******
plying their
tricks and
getting their
kicks with
cherry fresh
wicks and
Nikki Sixx *****
in the gayest
of ways

Shower beer
shower beer
my kingdom for
a shower beer

My kingdom is
a shower and a bed
yup
just a shower and a bed
in this
podunkshitholenowhere
******* town

But I'm suds'n up
while suds'n down
making my frown
turn
up
Up
UP-side down

Nothing better
nothing aside
from her
peachy little mound
nothing better in this
fuckedupdownandoutdingy
******* Desert town

Never astray
have I been steered
nope
not by a shower beer
no indeed
no tears have I shed
no siree
no life have I bled
no not me
no ill will have I ever bred

no
not on account
of
a shower beer

I do not think he would
begrudge a wine tinted
smudge on the page
a blush of the blushest blush
akin to the blood of life
the cup that is filled and overfloweth
blood into wine
the Book's little innuendos
coyly writ for the quiet amusement
of chastened monks
Christ what a waste
not the man mind you
the Word
the words
lost in the compounded
ignorance of millenia
I prefer them stained red
honest on back-lit pages
Who
after all
could begrudge honesty
History it seems

Can't cut through
Lost my even keel
Just blackness below
and sharks at heel
Could tread forward
Rather flip the wheel
Run her aground
Taste the bite of the steel
Let the waves crash over
and the chain unreel
Until the deep takes me whole
and I can no longer feel
The grip of the truth
and the horror of the real
I'd like my mind to fade
maybe
give it some time to heal

A wise pope once said
a man's ambition
must indeed be small
to write his name
upon a ******* wall

But for want of superstition
and tales told tall
I'll play that ancient game
....right after my last call

Preluding my expiration
just before the fall
I'll seek the Devil's fame
and inscribe that ***** stall

By hook, by crook,
or explosive indigestion
Every nook, every sideways look
shall bear my ugly shame
For what better eulogy book
than that old ******* wall
That great temple of the read

I need a Bleh Book

Somewhere to dump the random cacaphony of **** ricocheting against
the thinning vault of my skull like a prison yard handball

Nowhere to go but in perpetual motion nonetheless

Drolly counting a cadence without the revelry of enlightenment or the hope of release

What should be pearls of wisdom precipitously condensed by the weight of time within an elegant carapace formed under the irradescent glow of a witches moon are just chili seeds gathering dust
in an old septic tank rusting under a dimming streetlight in an Albuquerque back alley

Hard kernel remnants of rellenos long since evacuated

Maybe this is it
My book

So
Bleh *******

You
are
welcome

I think what I liked most was that she
liked me or seemed to for a time Elegance manifest tall and slim red pixied hair cool and chic another word for elegant

you get the point

She was magic between the sheets they dripped imbued with her I began to believe that she loved the idea of me as much as I loved the idea of her

But

We had agreed it was just a moment The city called it needed her I knew it

she was made for it

And yet the want it called it needed that high Insecurity and vanity won out or just grew until the butthurt set in

And we ended

All things pure are ruined by
butthurt boys

Pope John Paul II
maybe
Johnny P the Deuce
(to his friends)
empassions an Easter sermon
years before the Passion
or millennia after
to Jane Fonda
feathered red and nicotine stained
watching the city burn
one
station wagon
at
a
time

And here we are looking down a ***** bowl shitstains streaking a carnivore's sticky trail from someone who couldn't be bothered to add sufficient fiber to their diet or at least give a ******* courtesy scrub convinced it was somehow too Marxist or too woke And we were doing so good at the gluten free Fitting really I guess

******* poets are we
slinging
crying
and singing
misnomers and malaphors
scratched into rust-colored doors
smeared in intestinal gore
across **** sticky floors
papered in Charmin strewn moors
like the wastelands of yore
distended and sore
wretching on all fours
expelling the night before
cheap ***** dripping from every pore
praying for death or horrible more
clinging
tingling
barely blinking
desperate to be free
of this porcelain soap box
its dysfunctional lock
the ghosts of **** dripping *****
and passed kidney rocks
unwelcome janitorial knocks
and quizzical stall walks
amid foul tossed jocks
and the occasional **** crusted sock
doom scrolling TikTok
and its bizarre philosophical flock
of fame addled crocks
helping dislodging this ******* gut block
thinking
cringing
and cramping
just needing to ******* ***

Zuck the Cuck
and
Musk the Husk
and
Bezos con Pesos
all
bereft of spine
each
vying in line
and
itching to dine
with
the **** swine
sip
their fascist wine
from
hate gilded stein
aback
Gueros sin Huevos
all
hooded at dusk
in
rusty betesticled trucks

one day
you too
will
not know
you never
existed

Their Golden Age is
our gold in their pockets
so they can kick Special K
in their gold **** shaped rockets
while they TikTok about it
with hookers they call chocolate
and **** with the sprockets
of our process retarding our progress
for the fatness of their wallets
while they blame it all
on the people they call
wetbacks trannys and *******
dragging the *****
of their ignorant masses
to their **** black masses
all on their knees begging please
bring us back before history was black
and they didn't have to feel bad
about the size of their tiny nut sacks
and they could blame it all
on all the ******* ******
on the needle and crack

I could have
but didn't
I don't know why
I certainly should have
but I didn't even try
maybe
someday
I'll get around to that thing
someday
but not today
or tomorrow
perhaps not ever

**** it
I suppose

why not live the lie
and regret it
until the day I die

What colors are the stars?
I asked her,
a spectrum of
twinkling hues
cast against the
ceiling,
blinking from
the beast's shell.
What magic she must perceive
behind her eyes?
Ancient stories
wrought in the fabric
of her DNA,
distant memories
ages old
of times around
the fires.

Far be it from me
To complexify the issue
By propulgating wrongery
Less I subterfuge
My untentions
Toward wittery
And ashoe
Refudiation

It's just a
matter of
clever simplicity
or
simple clevericity
said I to she
It's more a
question of
earnest felicity
and
abstract electricity
said she to me
though we both
could agree
*******
is
*******
however masked
implicitly

Who felled the tree
at Sycamore Gap?
Who'd do such a thing,
who'd want the rap?
Someone weak of knee,
I think.
Wanting of wood,
no doubt
(it reaching no more than three,
you see),
and in dire need of its
robust and ruddy sap.

Who planted the tree
at Sycamore Gap?
Its seed ensconced,
mayhap,
a hundred years past
(or three),
by a wigged wiggly lass,
sporting and wee,
riding wild a
brigand Dragoon
on some fine
Imperial
British afternoon.
The sewn and
sprouting stone
assuredly
shaken from
her silken
pantaloon.

Who felled the tree
at Sycamore Gap?
I dunno, prolly
the Russians.

I hate those Voodoo mornings when I cant dig myself out of my own head a relentless quipping chirping anxiety over woulda coulda shoulda wishing I knew better wondering why I dont silent resolutions that evaporate by days end pondering the infinite insignificance of everything that is nothing paranoid that nothing is in fact everything in the doomed hands of a salvation without mercy heavy hearted in the dark waiting for light to peek through the blinds and tell me that its ok to be awake its a lie but thats ok too I guess **** it might as well make the coffee

BUT

I
love
those
hazy
baked
evenings
where
every
thought
is
clarity
or
at
least
the
perception
of
it
guiding
each
seamlessly
to
the
next
and
still
next
after
until
the
next

I send words
like **** pics
both decidedly
wanting
and
unwanted

Except maybe by one

but that was
long ago
and who
really
knows
the truth of it
now

Well whiskey and a Rock Springs girl,
in one Cowboy Bar or another,
waiting for the ceiling to swirl.
She says she wants to be a mother,
I just want to see her toes curl,
but I wonder if it's worth the bother.

She's lost herself to the endless wind,
thinks anywhere else must be better.
Feels her life's been pinned,
to the tail of an *** unfettered.

I don't want to tell her,
there isn't any place better.
Same **** everywhere you go,
tempered hard and stupid slow.

It's with whom you take the ride,
but God knows she's tried.
Just one ******* after the other,
and I sure as **** ain't a father.

I'll just sit with her awhile,
hope she adds me to the pile.
A drifter liar and her next mistake,
busy working the rigs for my own big break,

until my life's been pinned,
to the tail of an *** unfettered.