Poison spoon fed the nodding King and ended ancestors.

Holy cows bought government *****
and ate suicides grown by ***** Kubla Khan gospels.

Shantih, Leviticus, and other proper thoughts
kissed arms of air and made islands from memories of breakfast.

Eternity perished in the illusion of swallowed tongues
in the belly of an infant—
and yesterday,

Only one bullet of hallelujah stood swimming.

Our feet can't hold us down sometimes.
As old, worn out memories lash at our pale bony ankles.
Forget me, I've faded off into another world.
Our arms can't reach our eyes sometimes.
The harsh white light of the morning bears down on us like dull rusty razors.
Lose me, I've lost myself one hundred times before.
Our ears can't tune out those distant cries,
The wind oozes in, slapping up against silence.
Ignore me, I long for what you cannot give.
Our spines can't hold us high much longer,
As they slowly droop into angles meant for brooding.
Forgive me, for only then can you let me go.
Our hearts are slowly losing rhythm with the world.
Life has become to harsh--the future too shrouded by memories.
Leave me, somewhere in the past, with all the sweet nothing's and clouded laments to the unrelentless Gods that weave together beneath my toes.

As trite and gray as words
become with time, my heart
becomes an ashen leaf
in fall; or kitschy art;

or something even deader,
as old coals, so far abstract
from life that words should give
them meaning; In fact,

that I might be troubled
to convey this worthless stuff,
I find the lackingness of language
barely dead enough.