Nahum 3:6
“And I will cast abominable filth upon thee,
and make thee vile,
and will set thee as a gazingstock.”

I am baptized in filth,
Permeated with disorder,
A beast of burden
Driven by divine anti cosmic selfishness.

Disgust and revulsion count the beat with my
Irregular slow pulse,
Arrhythmic anti bodies against healthy.

I wallow in the fallow foul offal of things
No one wants,
I am the God of undesirable castigates.

I ascend in the eschatology of dirt,
Dis-ease and grime line the cracks in my soul.

If I have a soul
it's stained black with too much smoke, tar,
And the neurotic austerity of abuse,
One drug psychosis to another.

My odour is
Smelling like the smouldering mouldy scent of cigarettes
And bad breath.

The entropy of self abnegation,
Defiling the temple God gave me,
But who asked Him.

I will desecrate my existence with the messy disorder,
Of a desperate need,
To existentially embody,
My disgust for living.

I am sublimated in the translation
Of dusk into dark.

Performing the rites of twilight
I lurch anointed in the contrast of a street light
Casting long dark shadows,
Across despoiled fallow land.

I burn with the sin of unknown
craggy
well hidden
things.

And,
I'm dancing the dance of corvids
My ****** of crows is a pack of ravens
Wisdom and Knowledge.

I am
Lost with the magpies
Sacrificing pigeons,
Omnivore.

I seek to know the nothing of the vacuum,
Guided by beasts of burdens,
Other obligations.

All things come to pass and ***** out sacred light
Out here in the tenuous void,
My resigned realm, nill and unbecoming,
Spirals into a vortex of decimation.

Here in the rotten rancid Grey Wastes,
Mystically medicated on mushrooms
I'm hallucinating evil wretched things,
Shrouded in the apprehension
Of a heroic dose,
But, then again I'm always somewhere else.

I'm always in another life,
Another engulfing misery,
Fantasizing dissolution into damnable abominable things,
Light oscillating subtle shadows out the corner of my eye,
The intrusive delusion
That something is
Out
There.

Out here in the eclipse of light.
Everything is shrouded in suspicion
And danger,
Even though it's tranquil territory
Most of the wayfarers
Are dangerous.

And,
Hell is dark.

And,
Hell is cold.

And,
Hell is empty in the glimmer
Of God's holy glow.

I will extinguish the light,
Collapse it into singularity-
Into a black hole.

The infernal portal
Where ego triumphed over spirit,
Pure matter,
I will enter into the gate
To a starless aeon.

I dwell in the eternal darkness of
Night.

And,
What is heaven but a snuffing out of light?

All I have left of my former life.
Is empty notebooks.
A photograph or two.
And her memory.
Written all over it.

I just wanted to move back to that.
Emptiness in my childhood.
The irresponsibility.
Wasting time as a due course.
Sublimated by schedules.
Organised by no one.

Nostalgia is
That vacant stare.
The flat effect of forgetting.

The wind whistling in my ear.
And old adages.
Old wives tales told
To naive men
To help me fall
Into subtle slumber.

There's nowhere I can go.
When the next cataclysmic catastrophe destroys my life.
There is no safe place of sentiment and empathy.
Nothing and no one there to tell me it's ok.

No food.

No kind words.

No favours or luck.

Just.
Struggle.

Just.
Motion forward to somewhere else.
Problem solving myself from here to there.
As it comes.

The future so distant.
All I can imagine.
Is these tired blistered feet.
Walking down some burning asphalt.

My soundtrack the crickets and wild things.
That live beyond the ditch.
Etched in my mind.
Perpetually leaving.

They like to lament.
About the person I used to be.
As though them ignoring me.
Leaving me in the wilderness.
Means I have a defined self.

And,
It's always my fault

How dare I change from the ossified.
Memory they have of me.
How dare I grow my own way.
And, they cry to the heavens.
At the death of my optimistic youth.

But they were never there.

When I needed them.

They define me.
As someone I wasn't.
And mourn the loss.
Of the fantasy.

I am enshrouded
In Eternal
Darkness
And
I never asked
For there to be
A light.

Perpetual
Night-
With nothing
But the
Enveloping
Dusk.

How many 20 year old men
Do the baby boomers get to
Send to die for your
petty
conflict.

Your brothers war.

How many armchair generals
Throw an already dying people
Into the meat grinder.
So mail order brides
Can make mystery meat borscht instead
Of fighting their own *******

War.

From the comfort of what's apparently not my home.

Hope has.
Just turned.
Into the same routine.
To try to get through.
Being alive.

Now I long for.
Quick days.
Eternity reduced.
To a milisecond panic.

No more.
Bad dreams.
No more self loathing.
The emptiness.
Of I didn't know.

Eventually it dawned on me.
That grimacing when I was in pain.
Was to communicate distress.
To someone who was never there.
Now I just.
Take it.

Janis always wails.
Me to some.
Kinda.
Good memory.
I had.

A place in time.
Where I'm.
Happy.
And everything.
Is ok.

Maybe around a.
Fire.

Feelings come and go in irregular patterns.
It's always most joyous.
When I have my flat affect.
Something very hard.
To read into.
Some very cold fish.

It burns.
Going down.
But I'm used to it.
Like it's normal.
And, I pass out.
By choice.

If that tooth.
Would just.
Catch.
On a small.
Piece.
Of your skin.
And tear open your throat.
I might be.
Happy.