I

Hero
in
Hero

He struts into a meeting feeling meek and needy but,
greater than the digit zero.
He figits around not breaking much mental ground although,
these restless legs could corrode the tiles to dust.
Nothing has been able to hold his attention,
they call it ADD.
He calls it the human condition.
He sees fear in a spoon full of dust,
shrugs it off continuing to pump veins full of rust.
Packs a bag and gives sister a hug,
trudge down under I95 reaching Broad to south Philly,
to be at peace and tormoil living amongst the crust.

II

Trying marijuana maintenance
Trying therapeutic intervention
Trying geographical relocation
Trying to be happy.
A pale king in the end a peasant feeling sappy.
He writes
He fights
To the bitter end he sees too many loved ones send,
Letters from the graves they dig for themselves.
An addiction which cannot bend and always leaves
Them broken.
These letters represent a token of hope to overcome
Dope, from beyond this temporal transient world,
He receives these letters.
Don’t give up! Don’t give in!
Written, in beautiful otherworld cursive.

III*

These restless legs can wear the cotton sheets
To fractured fibers.
A splintered conscience,
A glint of hope,
These trans-dimensional letters arrive on a silver rope.

The pale king takes it all in with no buffering
And dismisses his selfish suffering.
He has won
He is the hero of this story.

The pale king who once strolled the Kensington
Streets less than zero.

Is now a ****** hero.

Rally around this man,
A clan of beautiful addicts,
Laughing and not being normal,
Who wants a life which is normal?

All his friends
All his friends
All my friends  

The memories together blend,
In the end our ****-ups make us stronger,
Than the accountant making ends meet in a
Culd-a-sac street sign labeled dead end.

We spent the last ten years trying to feel alive,
And will spend the next ten feeling justly deprived.

His letters scream to defend:
That it is all well worth it, in the end.

Where are those friends tonight?
He visits them at their headstones,
Reminded where it leads, a life being ******.

Shivering cold to the bone,
Hot sweats dripping down flannel folds,
All we wanted was to break the mold.

He is more than a statistic of decimals and
Digits, greater than the sum of zero.

He is the hero(in) hero.

No longer
Less
Than
Zero.

Fading falling daguerreotypes
litter the Montmarte of
my fuzzy imagination, after
Isis bombs a train station.
Polizei! Polizei! Polizei!
Gendarmerie! Gendarmerie! Gendarmerie!
Help! I...they need somebody, in three
Separate languages, can't the world see?
The capital is under seige.
What's next,
But the predictable.
Fear, fearmongering, fearmonsters,
Fuckit,
What's now,
Give 'em all a beer.
C'est la guerre

All us children of the Millennial
awaiting an omen,
seeking out the last augury,
weaving among the boomers
who present us with a forgery.

Stay strong, my children!
We are the last missionaries,
the last lost lovers,
are the rarest breed indeed,
above us a genuine gospel hovers.

Stay authentic, my friends!
Set out with unmatched veracity,
imperfection glistens these days but,
we see through the deceiving fog with rectitude,
we refuse to be mislead.

Steer the course, my children!
These maps made for us yield no
sensible shape or design when traced,
we forge our own compass.
Forgetting north south east west,
undulating inwards with a steady pace.

"We are the lovers, we are the last of our kind, so hold my hand and keep your chin up and I swear we'll be just fine."

We desire no recompense, only truth.
On sour soiled presidential soliloquies we muster strength again and again to chew, repeatedly breaking a tooth.

With roots above and branches below,
we capture our affections in nature's photo booth
but,
furrow our brows in a sordid mirror reflection.

Stay clean, my sweet princes!
Dart ahead to meet me and my words I will not mince.

Hold steadfast to the healing hope hovering above our masts,
steer this ship with steady hands,
fear not the undertow.

A voyage which is long and treacherous,
but this is no ship of floating fools.

Be proud, my children!
We have sailed successfully into the millennium,
leaving in our wake the outdated value systems of the past.

We are the strong
We are the brave
We are the lovers
The last of our kind

dust creeping falling ever slowly
all matter seeking an elemental match,
red phosphorus add ephedrine
all you need to cook a fresh batch,
keep it up kids and you'll vanish
in a crystalline flash.

an act of attrition
propagated with little to
no conviction

arriving astutely, on the
Lower East Side.
walking  blindly, through
streets of poorly written fiction.
the brevity of time crunched, by
gravity triggers a gasping
mumble, missing any
recognizable diction.

hail down a cab,
surprise. it's me,
come to close the space between,
causing static and friction.
it's the last night on Earth, dear,
so toss out all impressions
first

dance in the dying of the light

we may not well will not get another night

dance, drop, then die, in the passing of the faded jaded light

Is it all just cheap hash (and)
****** shopping malls (and)
identical housing developments
anymore
?
nevermore
is it expensive Asian dinner (and)
mom's special casserole on the stove
left to simmer (and)
a sticker on your school paper about cars (or)
a lucky four leaf clove
found innocently playing in the front yard,
hidden from the world by pickets white but barbed  
(and) beautiful (and) normal.
Is it all tricks turned cheap, sudden loss of breathing (and)
smoke inhaled (and) powders breathed (and)
emotions bottled to be beheld kept seething.
A ****** cold Mexican TV dinner, fake.
A sad sloppy American lunch break, for Christ's sake.
A couple of teens talked on tinder set up a date (and)
put each other in a relationship so fake,
it was lost to the scrap yard.
A pair of adults met on eharmony (and)
scratched, picked, clawed at each others minds until
they were ****, blistered, scabbed.
Wet hot beef (and) (or) dry cold spaghetti on a plate,
makes the post nuclear family come together feeling
just great :)

Does creativity spring[?]
boundless
from the well of the abyss,
so we can sing.

When you crawl up out of that well and
up my ankles up my
jeans
up over knee hills
through thigh valleys.

Reach a finger tentatively
approaching
my hidden alley,
a dark moonlit crater you're
encroaching.

My Annabelle.
My Annabelle
Lee.
Hate me later,
love me now,
then
take your leave.

Perpetually pantheistic
endless cycles keeping man
in a vast panorama of
meaningless[?] accomplishments.

Is this it?

We are embryos patiently awaiting our birth.      

We are gods,
each
awaiting our flock of faithful followers.

We are embryos awaiting birth.

We **** all night,
Stopping at a ridiculous Red Light
District engulfed in a klonopin haze
Of lust.
Full of raging disgust I wish
To ****** violently until bust.
But first lets gander hornily every
Toy evil ***** and vibrating pleasure
Contraption this seedy shop sells
To the permanently sexually soiled.
I get you everything you want baby,
I will devour thee, God of Chaos,
Mastodon master, lustful leviathan,
Tonight, I am the destroyer of Worlds.