Vice and debauchery are highly underrated
Underestimated by outdated modes of morality
But pleasure is the friend that chases away banality
Fights off the finality
We face existing in this space
Walking pounds of space dust
Apes we sprang from
Came upon some fun
Knew what is now forgotten
By some
You can’t buy one
Moment back
Before vision is blotted black
The spotted fact
That all we lack
Is fun
Forgotten in the rush to work
The race to hurt spirits
By contorting our flesh and mind
To the clock that kills our time
I am still feeling fine
But tell me how are you

he was radicalized in
the marshes of Vietnam
when they told him to fire
his loaded gun at a
group of school children

a dissident who
marched on Washington
with a Reverend and a King
and read Žižek Zinn and
Chomsky's reflections on direct
action and anarchistic philosophy

a staunch opponent of
police brutality in his
fifties he protested the
****** of Rodney King

he did not go quietly
into the black abyss but
raged against a putrescent
apparatus obsessed with control

he died waiting for the Revolution

I’m Tired of people faking tears
Making fears
While they disappear
With all of our earnings
Grief lights the night like
Stars scarring the midnight sky
Sparse space specters
Screaming why
Teaming life
Has to die
Talking to gravestones
Where nobody stays home
And hearts turn to grey stone

I got running water
Cold or hotter
And I never have to
Watch my daughter
Get *****

I get internet and electricity
And I never had to watch my city
Get burnt from drone dropped bombs

I got air conditioner and heating
Even though I took a few beatings
I don’t have to be afraid
Of getting shot today

I got a job paying minimum wage
So after my bills I got a little extra
Coming my way
So I can buy books and go to the movies

May life may not be great
But I can’t debate
That when I wake up each day
I don’t wake up a slave

When I walk home at night
I am not walking in a state of fright
Anxious that some stranger might
Hurt me

I live better than over seventy five percent
Of the world
Even my worse days
Beat the haze of foreign war ways

I read my body like a road map
My ******* become mountains
My hips are flowing bodies of water
Here's to the not-so-lean lines
That tell me where the highways are
The railroad is the predominant form of transportation
In the quaint little town I depict on my skin
Train tracks cover inch by inch of me
From wrist to chest to thigh
Smothered in scars
That tell you where I've been
And where I hope to move away from.
Every good map has a starting point
For me, that was ****** abuse
Was verbal aggression
Was gas lighting
Then the extra distance in the middle
Was suicidal thoughts
Was bulimia
Was starting therapy
Was never being good enough for anyone
I'm not quite to where I want to be yet
But I'm progressing to the city of
I am good enough for me
Now I worship these train tracks
No more fresh blood
But I can kiss the scars
I find myself in love with my existence
Rather than ashamed of my past
I will handle my map like ancient scrolls
Like a golden altar
Not settling for any silly lover
Who does not exalt this sacred land, this body
And to love where I am going,
You must honor each and every place
I have been.

It’s six to two
Then staying till close
It’s overtime
Trying to find
Someone to watch the kids
It’s broken down car
When your job
Is out of town

It’s trying to decide
If you keep the lights
While eating Ramon tonight
Or if you eat something
Just a little more tasty

It’s a bottle of no doz
Cups of coffee
Twenty four ounce soda
Energy drinks
That rot your teeth
But falling asleep
On your aching feet
Isn’t an option

It is exhaustion
So deep that you can’t think
Tension so painful
That you can’t sleep

It’s a frustrated boss
Taking it out on you
No matter what you do
Because you are there

It’s grease so thick
That you can’t wash it
Out of your greying and receding hair

It’s numbing your spirit
All week long
And hoping you don’t get called in
On your day off
Cause you can’t turn it down
Cause you’re so far in debt
That you might as well
Be six feet under the ground

It’s a ticket
For something you didn’t do
Based on a bus drivers
Bad attitude
Five hundred dollars
And it also costs you

Your license
You lose your job
You lose the lights
You lose the water
You lose your house
You lose your kids

Cause you are always
One bad day
From total devastation

What road holds
Mirrors of our better selves
Paths to the truth
That surpass
The myths
Of our troubled youth
And sees us ascend
The celestially steps
Of knowledge, wisdom,
and compassion

Clear water and blue skies
Distorted through glass eyes
Watery distortions
In the human mind
Heavenly perceptions
Made to confine
Reality
A spectrum defined
By the untrained minds
Cloud kings and underworld gods
Flaming pools
And cumulous mansions
Madness
Made to make us accept
The status quo
To slow our roll
We are Sisyphus
Pushing a boulder
Ever upwards
Without water
Without a break
Till they steal our last breath
They say only fools believe
In what they perceive
That the spiritual
Is the factual
But Plato’s Socrate’s cave
His allegory
Fits our life
Explains it with a perfect fable

A harden heart
Won’t heal
A Broken bone
Might mend
Flesh maybe malleable
Skin maybe valuable
Joints may be flexible
Soul maybe sexiable
Desire maybe satiable
You maybe able
To overcome
What makes some
Unstable
May turn the table
Maybe a better man
Than me
As long as you retain
Your empathy

**** the bad guys
He’s a bad guy
She’s a bad guy
Who gets to decide
Who’s a bad guy
Blow’em up
Shoot’em up
Destroy their stuff
****’em all
Till nothings left
But don’t forget
That in doing so
You become the bad guys
And someone might have to
Take a gun and come for you

When you don’t have to see
When it’s just a tv screen
Muted voices scream
But you can’t hear a thing

When you’re not on the ground
To feel the fear or hear the sounds
Then it’s easier to look away
It gets easier to stand and say
That waging war is okay

But when it’s your blood
Or the blood of those you love
When the price you pay is personal
Then the decisions are made more carefully

Too bad politicians and rich men
Don’t have to send their sons and daughters
Off to war to face an almost certain slaughter

Maybe if the generals and congressmen
The admirals and the president
Had to stand in the thick of it
I might trust their judgment

The old ways do not work
Do more than hurt
They ******* innovation
Captivate emerging nations
Enslave developing countries
Ensnare those who care
In webs of complication
Regulations once meant to help
Now help the rich
Systems of protection
Maintain the wealth
They may have been good once
But we need a new way
Not free market American schemes
But new universal dreams