Strolling down Móstoles - I am
Going to meet my man.
The world is an omen right now
schizotypal delights
of *** - over anything else
but they are plain delights
today
The omen of joy itself
The world is perfectly untidy
The world (or me?) needs nothing but loving

Men are looking to me
and they mean nothing
but they mean everything
as I'm close to you and me
**** omens, in the street
everything is the way it should be
Perfectly in time, every beat
As I stroll around with me
in my poppy and short skirt

I am eager to meet you
and this is the prelude to us
We, that set the sky in flames
with the whispering of our names

Raise your hands now that the king is dead
Bring the poor out the streets the meek are fed
Bring sugar, milk, wine, and bread
Please lower your hands for the king is dead

May the ****** please come and feast with us
No need to starve like rats on crumbs and crust
We can show you peace, love, and trust
Oh please, the ******, come and feast with us

May the women who roam the night please come forth
We admire you because we all come from your birth
All humans, no lesser, from all east and north
May the dear woman from the night please come forth

Now that we have gathered I want to tell you all
What love and triumph serves to call
How we all rise with sun and sleep at fall
Please love yourself I’ve gathered tell you all

How oddly comforting it is to live in a place where we’re never alone,
Where a friend to talk to,
Or perhaps a long-since past captured moment
All live inside the screen of a phone.

Where we seek momentarily vibrant entertainment,
A single click away from any form of instant gratification,
Thirty seconds of an advertisement are too long a wait
To listen to an empty, hollow song.
There is no more journey, only destination.

Teased for anything that makes one stand out,
Young boys and girls are taught to be vain.
Flooded with images of perfection
Who needs uniqueness when we can all be the same?

Neon signs, boastful words, glimmering lights,
“Progress”, we call it,
Conceal the smoke and grime,
The poisoned seas and wheezing forests.
Yet we never take the hint,
Even when it’s plastered around, a collection of signs
Pushing our problems on the next generation to solve,
We’ve made it this far, so we’ll never die…
Right?

Society is split,
And it was greedy hands that cut the cake,
Making it look like a chart,
Of the pie variety,
One of the ones that has one vast, delicious chunk,
And the rest is so small
That the figures are written off to the side.
Just crumbs left to eat for the frightening numbers of those
Born below that line
Such twisted irony:
For the one of the cheapest foods in the store
Is flour.

No happiness for the ones at the bottom
Except for patriotic half-truths.
“All men are created equal.”
So are bricks I suppose.
Except that in a pyramid, most are destined to lay
Close to the ground,
Worn, chipped, and dust-covered,
And but a few gleam in the golden rays of the sun,
The few on top, bathed in wealth.
But without its base, the system will crumble.
At least that’s what they say.

So we let ourselves be told how to think,
Never looking outside our bottles and bubbles for the source of reasoning.
“She’s a sinner, he’s just lazy.”
Such cruel things about unfortunate souls
The crowd can say.
But why?
“Because they chose to be that way.”
It’s simple of course, when only the individual
Can be to blame.

Society’s sentencing
Replacing the need for a God in a way,
Chains of morality, while amorphous through time
Have always been and will always stay.

And we judge without stopping to think,
Who told us that this is the way to think,
To think about why it is that we think
In this way.

Floating inside our bubbles and bottles,
Too steeped in others’ thoughts and words
To lift our chins,
Look around
And think of our own.

We’re ever marching forward,
To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
Effectively staying in place.
Though the landscape around us ebbs and flows
In our nature,
Essentially we never changed.

Here in the morning gloaming
burning
my skin flaming
as I imagine red kisses
from smouldering lips!

How easily
in anticipation
you make me whimper
before with pleasure
making me simper -
each kiss
another hot coal
placed on my rawness
with searing softness.

(A peculiar dream this
where outside in
I cannot unlock the secret of my soul
but must in Love with a Stranger
turn myself inside out!)