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Dec 2017
a couple is a crisis cult for two,
and money provides all the solace
in the world for an otherwise altogether
71-year-old in need of a heart transplant

of course, youth and its ***** hands
offers less than a staid, old politician

screaming "****" from the top of
your lungs will not help, for in (my)space
no one can hear you scream-- even
after that name has long since been abandoned
and rebranded several times over,
re-worked and reimagined


when i come face-to-face with
my mortality, will the specter of death
raise out of me like a jack in a box,
as i desperately try to close the lid
and live again inside those six walls?

is this how living is defined, and
is it impossible to escape? probably

the id casts a shadow over everything
and we always find it an accomplice,
whether technology, our hearts or our fists.


right now i am in god mode/
have infinite ammo, shooting at
indiscriminate targets because no one
"shadow boxes" with their bullets
and aims with any real purpose--
even if he knows the contents of
his clip or watches it wind down

the illusion of firing off
a machine gun and penetrating
random walls--briefly animating them
with life as they spill out their contents--
is too powerful to stop shooting


death descends in a lot of forms,
and you hope its grip is temporary;
of course, the id tip-toes back in and
sometimes never even goes away

is humility just arrogance
with table manners-- a sense of
decorum draped over an insatiable appetite?


we have big dreams for our guns.
we want to shoot down the world,
so that we may live in a solipsism
where nothing can challenge our greatness.

living among others is an act of inferiority;
which, i suppose, is one reason more
why we simply do not.


"right hand man"-- people are like
parts of your body, an extension of yourself,
as in the thing we use to grasp something
and feed it into our mouths

in peruvian slang, a friend is a "pata"
or a "leg", in albanian that's "zemer" or "heart";
the attempt--and success--framing this romantically
implicates a matrix of ******* which
runs so deep through society.


you pump my blood.

you get me from point a to point b.

you are my friend.

you are my love

and a couple is a crisis cult for two.
Written by
stylesclash  28/M/USA
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