don't look now,
here comes
the tax man
he needs some
of your cash,
so he can turn
the middle east
into a giant
******* trashcan
he'll occupy
the Afghans
their poppy fields
are vast, and
at home
we love the
pills that come
from doctors
running that scam

cause we're
a nation
dedicated
to remaining
medicated
our existence
predicated on
duress, stress
and excess
we rack our
brains with worry
as from place
to place we hurry
just as startled
roaches scurry
in the frightened
sight of light
lo and behold!
what we've been sold
In bold relief,
this is our plight!

We are but a fleeting plume of dust,
We are but a withered patch of rust,
We are but an aimless wind, whose gust
Is drifting, through the dreary twilight's must,

Awaiting, the new rising of the dawn,
Awaiting, the dewdrops which glaze the lawn
Awaiting, the quick prancing of the faun,
Whose dancing through the fields might lead us on

Through streams and forests, far from where we've strayed
Through pastures, where the lilies rock and sway
Through clearings, where the sunbeams pierce the gray
Of the foreboding clouds, to light the day.

Yet, here we wait, with eagerness and zeal,
Yet, here we lick these wounds, which never heal,
Yet, here we churn the spinning water wheel,
Which drips a fatal poison in our meal.

First,

You became self aware,
Then, on two feet began to walk, and
Then you started using tools, and
Then you even learned to talk, and
You were mommy's little miracle,
The tears would flow in joy,
You were my darling little hero,
And so beautiful and coy,
You,
Used to be,
Such a sweet
Little boy,
You were my life's
Crowning achievement, and
My *****'s pride and joy, and
I know, that
Throughout the years,
I have shown
Anger and neglect, but
Was that enough,
To warrant, all this
Utter disrespect?
I gave within my means,
I did the best I could achieve,
I gave you land to cultivate, with
Water, food, and air to breathe, but now
You've become so callous, and
My heart begins to bleed,
For time has,
Filled your head
With malice,
Now I witness
How your greed, has
Slipped a poison, in
Your chalice, and
Deformed my
Precious seed,
Now, the fact
Of the matter, and
That down to which it boils, is
That the ages
Have transformed you,
Through the years of
Sweat and toil,
The fruits of
All your labor,
Have now begun to spoil, and
You've become crude barbarian,
A savage, gulping oil,
Belching out carbon, and
Vomiting plastic,
The change made you
Deranged, and
You've become
A frenzied spastic,
You lost your empathy, and
Your own kind, came to abhor,
You caused 100 million deaths, in
Just 10 years of "total war," and
In light of all of this, you have
Forgotten all your chores, and
You only know one word, and
Now, it seems that word is "MORE"
Well, perhaps
I've judged
Too quickly, and
I should have given time,
It seems you know
One other word, and
Now, that word it seems is "MINE"
"Mine"...
Like the ones you stripped, of
The resources that I gave you,
To furnish nuclear arms, and
You think God will come and save you?
Well, step up little boy, you
Think that you've got what it takes?
I will prove without a doubt,
That it will be your last mistake
I will push you til you crumble,
I will bend you til you break, and
I will burn your *** up,
Like an overcooked steak
Let me tell you right now,
That this behavior's gonna stop, or
I will flood your coastal regions, and
I'll wilt all of your crops, and
This is naught but the beginning, of
The things that I can do, two
Hundred species go extinct per day,
The next one could be you.

As the hour draws late,
      all the tribes gather,
The band begins to play, and
      in the midst of their serene
Exchange of musical phrases,
      I meet a quite peculiar man.
His dreadlocks hang way
      down past his shoulders, and
Above his rope sandals and
      patchwork pants, he sports
A shirt, emblazoned with
      a portrait of Lord Ganesha
Seated serenely in Lotus posture,
      overlaid by a wire wrap necklace
With a large piece of opal in the center.

His pupils are the size of
       dinner plates, nearly
Eclipsing the irises of his eyes.
       his musk is a distinctive mixture of
Body odor, *** smoke, and strong incense.
       we exchange our salutary pleasantries, and
As I absorb the spectacle of his appearance,
      he begins to discourse, saying:

"I charge my crystals
    in the moonlight, and
Keep them close by day,
   they clear my chi blockages, and
Realign my chakras,
   I burn sage and patchouli
To invoke the goddess
   spirit of the forest moon,
We are all just cosmic vibration
   expressed as living matter in
The timeless unity of
  the flowering astral plane"

He pauses for a moment,
     to light his spliff, and
After a few large tokes, continues on,
     describing the events of one fateful night,
When he "sat for a long spell, and
      experienced an unbridled quiescence of
Meditative stillness, culminating in a
      stream of flowing fractal visions, and a
      Whirlwind of
                             Pulsating
                                  Kundalini
                                       Energy

I listen with a sort of
   detached amusement, but
My brain is filtering his words out, and
    all I can hear are bursts of Charlie Brown's
Parents from the old Peanuts cartoon
    Interpolated with sentence fragments
That all seem to say the same thing:

"Look at me, I am so spiritual
  I am so profound I am so wise
I know the Truth I am enlightened"
"mwah Mwah mwah Mwah mwah
Mwah mwah Mwah mwah Mwah"

and then, suddenly, this haze of
  pseudo profound spirit science is
Interrupted by a phrase that grabs my
  attention, with strange immediacy.
"Also, I've got some fire doses. 5 a hit."

"Oh yeah?" I say. "ME, TOO, and
"I know mine are better, best on lot!"
He seems taken aback, as if offended.
He says he'll Pepsi challenge mine, and
That I'll be proven wrong. I accept.

He then pulls out  
a shiny vial of
Lucy in the Sky, and
Without hesitation,
squirts a generous
Puddle of it onto my tongue.

"Alright" he says "your turn."
I reach into my pocket,
Produce a small vial, and
Reciprocate his action.
"Now, we'll see!" He says
to me, with an air of smugness.
"That, we will" I retort.

We talk a bit longer, and
I look down at my watch.
"I must be off!" I say
"It's time for the show!"

We exchange our goodbyes, and
I wander off into the night,
Feeling rather odd,
He thinks he's bested me, but
I laugh quietly to myself,
Knowing in my mind,
That my vial was just eye drops, and
He just gave me nearly 10 hits for free, and
All for the sake of inflating the ego
He supposedly didn't have,

and you know...

I never saw him again after that.

in common usage of speech,
words and phrases are
sometimes seen to behave
almost as do
punctuation marks
in writing,
for example and
for instance, it will be taken
for granted that we
will grant you
phrases

such as: as such
and such; and such as                                
but if (and only if)
such there be; and
such being the case,
we go on, like so:

and so on,
and so forth,


and whatnot,
and what have you,
and what's more
and moreover
and furthermore

...

a bit of
investigation
we find
ourselves in
a state
whereby
we are rendered
utterly baffled;
thereby and thereupon
we feel our efforts to
have been an
exercise in futility.

therefore...

we resign.

Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,

Captured in the
mind's phantasm,

Swimming through
the ectoplasm,

Pouring from the
roaring chasm,

Hidden in the
soul's recess

A subtle, gentle,
warm caress

So jubilant, it  
doth redress,

The hindrances which
so suppress,

The progress of the
spirit's wellness,

Showing things which
words can't tell us,

Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,

Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
                  
ringing
              from a
                           distant
                                        shore?

It resonates from
mammoth spheres,

In orbit, shedding
countless years,

Through aeons of
causality,

And boundless
temporality

We see how worlds
arise and cease,

We see how yearning
lays the fleece,

The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool

Dispassion's peace
relieving, our

Great webs
of pain and sorrow,

Darkening,
to light the morrow

For as all things
must come apart,

So suffering's,
great work of art,

is merely but
a transience,

receding slowly
in the dark.