How can the public be so judgmental when all they know is lies.

I'll be that failure I wear that title well.
I won't cast a VOTE I'm not part of their lies nor do I support the whole deception.

I need to see the place beyond the ice where giants still build pyramids and chimeras all fear the wrath of God.

I'm headed south for the winter and to save myself from this system I'll never be apart of without a number around my neck and shackles across my heart.

I need to be where corn is eaten three times a day, siestas are expected and people are the color of the earth.
I want to die amongst the depleted Monarchs and the migrating
Quetzal Hummingbirds.

I wish to put my mind down for its final rest in a place where lies are not respected and the truth is nothing but the truth.

Somewhere thats far away from here.
A place that does'nt feel the need to claim its self the freest of the free while chained to things like laws, debts and the television screen.

I'll be where I don't speak the language and the people don't care.
I'll spend some time in old Mexico drinking away all my bad
memories, dancing with ficheras, making real Love to ****** and finding a way to start over.

A new way after I break free of the lies, bring myself to an end and build up the courage to leave you all behind.
So I can start myself anew.

Hunters wear camoflauge and
play the wind while stalking their prize.

Breath when you squeeze the trigger
the way he taught you when you were just a boy.

Make a clean cut ,save the liver and the still warm heart.

Don't take more than what you need.

A good sized buck can last you all winter.

And always be sure to leave something behind for the
wolves and the wolverines.

Crazy, times moving too fast
not enough time to know about anything
before that anything becomes something
that's already passed.

Don't forget your coat,
don't forget to write home,
don't forget about me.

Holidays wicked holidays
filled with fire and days gone by.
Days you can't help but remember,
days you count the days until its return again .

Holidays act as a place in time
you wish you can live again.
Again like the memories that flash,
the smiles we wore and the wine.
The sweet summer wine.

Some only remember what the wine
hasn't already wiped away.

Celebrate with me this one day
that we all remember.
All the days after this are but a break in time.

Time that's taking all the good you had in you
and all the days spent chasing a little bit
of my yesterdays.
Until my yesterdays are too forgotten.

Another holiday approaches and
we prepare to do it all over again.

Photographs taken on glass plated negatives.
Capture moments such as the Hangman
in the town square with the crude cut eye holes
in a dusty burlap executioners hood.

Pictures tell more than just a story.

Magicians meet in secret.
They sit around with their deep hats.
Shirts worn with Mother of Pearl
square cut cuff-links on the
ends of deep sleeved, steam
pressed, thin cotton shirts.

They meet in silence and sit in a pentagon formation
awaiting a secret to be shared.
None ever are yet the meetings are still held.

Men and only Men who all consider themselves
apart from the Lower men with their Lower wives.
Whose children they see as gifts for their Gods.

Small funny hats and small strange
aprons and a long sleeve shirt with mother of pearl
square cut cuff links.
No secrets here are ever revealed.

Young Virgins with innocent white, long skirted dresses
wear Baby's Breath halos atop their combed,
braided hair for protection.
Running through fields of wild honey suckle
brushing the palms of their hands
along the opened flowers.
Spreading pollen as they move across the field.

A ****** faced stranger who wore his
guns hung low across the hips the way killers do,
watches from atop his restless stallion.
Gamebirds stood stone still with the grass
as the stranger fixed his eyes on the plains below.

With his gloved magic hand he feels
his square cut cuff-link through the
gloves worn leather hyde and
prides himself on his patience
before moving in for the ****.

Crude signs painted
with the blood of the
living denounced
their latest decree.

Standing at the podium
spreading more lies.
All the world be your
theater and
nothing here is real.

Daytime cocktails under the
shadows of the palms.
Blood thinning and
running cold.
Cold like the serpent in the
summer sun.

You left your dreams in a
waste basket a few miles
outside of Vegas.
And all there is to do
is turn the music up
and lie to her some more.

Black draped youth
waving flags of
revolutionary red.

Pock scarred and some beautiful faces
all aimed up towards the waters.
The sound of  millions in the know.
Voices echo off the firmament
and cause ripples to race across
the very fabric of the heavens.

All of them screaming
"We KNOW!!"

And the Gods remained silent
as their secret held no more.

THEY SATURATE YOU DAY IN DAY OUT
EVER WONDER WHY IT'S ON EVERYTHING
EVERYWHERE YOU GO.

PEOPLE ACTING OUT
ARGUING OVER A NONEVENT.
DOING EXACTLY WHAT
THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO DO
LIKE RATS IN A MAZE.

.GET SCARED,GET ANGRY
BLAME THE GUNS
THE VERY THING YOUR LEADERS
CAN'T AND WON'T LIVE WITHOUT.

BUT YOU THE DANGEROUS
FOOLISH PUBLIC
SHOULD'NT HAVE THEM.

DO'NT ASK ANY QUESTIONS
JUST CARRY ON
GO TO WORK
EAT YOUR BURGER
AND PRAY.

THERE WILL BE ANOTHER ONE
PROBABLY TARGETING THE OBESE
AND WE'LL ALL WATCH
THIS SAME THING
PLAY OUT AGAIN.

KIND OF REDUNDANT.

Little Martha and her
yellow apples.
She drinks warm Mezcal
in the Poppy fields.

Copper canyon runners
wear thin leather
thongs on their
callused ash white feet.

Elevated Chicken coops
keep the Hens cool
in the summer and
safe from the
Copperheads on the
desert floor below.

Men soar like
Eagles and glide
around Polaris.
Trust in the
Hemp ropes
and trust in their
Creator.

Her father went South
to fight for his People.
That's the story she
still tells when asked
about him today.