The vultures im told are preying on us.
Even in your home you cant avoid
The meeting.
The vultures his or her name,
They promise to discover you,
You cant avoid starvation.
I know from experience water
Kills you faster.
My friends dont understand
How complete and thurough
They the vultures work.
Few birds go after what no one else wants
Because there's to much of it to go around.
To many rotten amatureish feelings make tons
Of cash when they have to pay for their own heart.
Dont call it vanity,
all the pros call the vultures vanity a scam.

Timelike and the decaying bodies piled high cease to amuse the vultures now

Single shots give the rebels confidence

They attack in force

Heavy machine gun fire from the west toss bodies into the air like ragdolls

Textbook

Vultures  tearing at eyes of the dead and dying

Bullets to precious for mercy

The night brings natures other cleaners

Muffled screams heighten the reactions as night vision survey death in technicolor

The ponderous wait continues

Stroking metal like some *** provoking act

Followed only by counting lives little savers, bullets of love

The vultures dance impatiently

The stroking intensifies

Hairs stand ***** as movement waves majestically towards its final objective

A sudden calm unfolds

Nature watches in awe as love is unleashed in her garden for the final time

The call to bayonets now, takes man down to his lowest form of savagery  

Eyes now meet, screaming death the ferocious last act of  men past the point of madness

Blood flows as metal slice through skin and bone, swaying death the final frenzy as screams die the days end

Men cry as they survey the last atrocity of human barbarity

Battle ended, vultures marvel feasting on the final meal

Battle hardened men massacre memories  leaving Celebrations a distant Country as blood red hands refuse to wash

They would never return.

The vultures gripped my heart
as they rip and pluck at it

Why are the vultures here?

Soon the birds will eat away
my flesh and body,
gliding in their gold mouths

Why are the vultures here?

They dare not take my soul
for there mouths will become
rotten
at the sight.

Why are the vultures here?

now my I am a soul
nothing more

Why are the vultures here?

My Rapture occurred on a friday night.
That's when I first reaped autumns rewards.
Dying leaves left lovely reminders,
or lessons;
Vultures cannot be trusted with love.
Forced rhythms are false to the ear and
dead to sight.
They fly over the carcass, waiting to strike the wicked.
Vultures cannot be trusted with love.

One hand gives you solace.
The other gives you sin.
Ice cold autumn winds wail a song to the blue sky,
vultures cannot be trusted with love.

I've taken to piercing my body, when I'm at my worst.
What, you've never felt like losing a little flesh?
It's a little bit of loss
A tiny death.
le petit mort
The death of skin cells is the sweetest.
Just ask the vultures-
Why else would they feast on it so?

They are not war badges or battle scars.
They are circles attaching myself to my soul
A minute weight and reminder
To forget, to remember, to be.
To be as a vulture
To relish in what is found
Not beg for what is not needed.

They are not true predators, vultures.
They rarely ****
Rarely cause harm to the universe.
They are performing a service to you, sir.
Would you prefer to eat your dead yourself?

They never come for me.
They do not care for my skin
They do not care for my tiny death.

Pierce is the perfect word, for the action.
Pierce, meaning stab cleanly.
Pierce, meaning penetrate.
Pierce, meaning sharply, shrilly, briskly.
That's what it feels like.
All-encompassing, for a few sweet seconds.
That's probably the true reason.

Flesh is overrated.
Overabundant.
Perhaps the vultures will come
And take a little from me.
Someday.

Biggest, blackest vultures
perched above the headstones
Unbending sin collectors
sipping through the nectar

Ripping through the silver
Leave but ashes, purple
Bruises hot and breathing
unfeathered throats, excited

Talons drop like fountains
beaming bright and red as blood
Penny wishes sinking
under oath and God above

The meal is hot and ready
Can only vultures stomach

the melted shouts of children

the deadened eyes of mothers

the headless walking fathers

Biggest, blackest vultures
elegant as navy
Irony collectors
clean of human peeling

Of napkin trees, a shading
Their beaks are white and shining
Underneath the highest flag
of their tender country

To some.
I'm your protector.
Your security from the vultures waiting to pounce.
Similar to new found friends that comes around.
Similar to family members newly found.

Vultures.
Those that loves to pretend to be.
When in reality.
They are not the image people think.

These vultures.
The ones that people speaks to you by saying look out.

Sure, we could run from them.
But that would be wrong.
We must impress upon them.
That our inner strength is strong.

You are not my children,
tender as you are.
You are not my lover,
though you cause my heart to yearn.
You are not my sun,
or my moon,
or my star.

I set you on this rock;
you will not make me burn.

You are simply sticks,
arranged upon the pyre.
You are clever tricks,
though you flaunt my clear desire.
You are not the match,
or the wick,
or the fire.

I set you on this rock;
To see what might transpire.

You will never be a pheasant's egg to be coddled.
You are only this: a calf led to the slaughter.

Since killed them the Diclofenac
vultures never came back
riverside carcasses in the sun dry
with not one long wing to swoop from the sky.

But vultures around me still abound
preying on the living thriving all around.

Narcissist I


Money questions hidden in cultures
Instead of debates, we have the vultures
They will overspend whatever their budget
Destroy years hard work, their odour pungent

Often called users, epiphytes of highest order
Those that cannot earn sufficient to quarter
Or manage their own, so they use others
Spending, unfettered, is their druthers

Cannot accept responsibility for damage
Continue to feast on their host, they ravage
Hollowing out from inside, funds they suction
Weakening the structure for eventual destruction

And weakened, debates then start about savings
Too late, funds gone, too late for the cravings
Absent conversation, leaves a bad situation
Long ago, train of debate left the station

What we have now is death and decay
All caused by silence, as the vultures flay
It will not be long until they seek a new host
Just when their former home needs them most

So leave they will, to claw the next poor victim
Removing their talons of love and devotion
Moving on, leaving behind just carcasses
Warm used bodies, mark of a narcissist

Every time you are away,
the vultures ask if I'd "like to play",
and lately I tend to say,
"Okay."

They invite me to dim rooms,
we talk about how all our friends
are "old friends",
we talk about ex-boyfriends,
weather, pregnant people,
and potential careers.

They ask if I'd like something to drink,
and lately I tend to say,
"Okay."

So we sip poison,
put on one of their country records,
or play some ****-poor movie,
and I never really say anything.

They ask if I'd like to lay beside them,
and lately I tend to say,
"Okay."

We undress,
push, pull, sweat, hate,
die,
and then the vultures
always make the eyes,
and I always have to
wipe my brow,
clear my throat,
and say,
"Our touch doesn't mean much.
Okay?"

Son of A Gun in The Wild West

Culture Vultures dining on carcasses,
a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
or both no vote only the onset of mainstream socialist monarchism,
a subconscious stream of consciousness consumed by a constantly contradicting condition of consumerism,
an avalanche of retail therapy and the avant of avant-gardism,
doesn’t have to be a better product or improved edition,
just has to be better packaged and marketed,
sold our souls so we don’t own anything anymore not even our own cognizance,
just look what what the mass media market did,

our collective memories and ancient traditions all but forgotten,
designer jeans symbolize a degenerative disease like Parkinson’s,
want to end this madness but don’t know who started it,
so who can we blame but ourselves in all honestness,
as we absorb Virtual Reality and ignore Actual Reality creating an occultism of Oculus,
Rift we drift into thee abyss of dark indifferences…

Neglecting the blueprint everybody’s a studio gangsta these days just ask 50 Cent,
morally bankrupt lazy played daisies try to copy Jay-Z’s blueprint,
but no body has a DJ Clue or a Ty Dollar to spare still everyone’s got their two cents,
all opinions given with no wisdom taken from the Grand Architect,
what good is good advice if we don’t take the time to listen we just dismiss it quick,
showing off trophies donating charity checks,
acting like champions we bare and beat our chest,
wearing fool’s gold and blood diamonds but we’ve won nothing yet,
honestly feels like we haven’t even started yet,
still we feel exhausted from this rat race for dominance,
slaves of an alien race we pledge allegiance with our obedience and faux pas ambiance,

And it’s all almost over for our entire empire so every moment better cherish it,
white robes with Chipko flip flops we hold the reins to Her Majesty’s chariot,
whipping the 500 horses faster in the fast lane will get you buried quick,
so I try and pace it and not get too wasted still I feel very sick,
when captain screams “You move too slow sailor!”, that’a when it’s time to depart this ship,
but you can’t rush good art and I’m an articulating artist for all the artisans,
in a constant state of affairs is why I haven’t married yet,

which of course means no divorce from any or all of this,
so I continue to translate transmissions without prejudice,
love is star crossed colorblind and my wonder mind is in wonderland’s luminescence,
as I illustrate illustrious illuminations off every edifice in this hedonistic eden like Edison,
with an ample amount of ambiance this is this rebels renegade Renaissance,
I write light before I become just another martyr for the Martian’s master plans,
my words are honest sonnets on tablets of mono-cultured monograms,
mono-glyphs that shine like a beacon on the Tower of Babel atop a cavernous monolith…

This is all honest in all honestness.

Here at the docks with assorted Goddesses and narcissistic walruses,
way up going under not trying to be negative but the only thing I’m positive of is,

we are cultivating a culture of artist that,
act as if everyone is targeted,
and we are whether bisexual or bipartisan,
so stay up and keep your eyes open because the games have just started kid.

This is all honest kid.

And I’m open to discuss everything except religion and of course politics,
so if you’re having issues then tell me what the problem is and maybe we can solve it quick,
and please don’t blame the Dalai Lama or Obama’s broken promises,
see we all have soiled wings just like these vultures that pick at our carcasses,
as we dine on Soylent Green served hot from the meting *** of concubine colleges,
wrong right black white day night see everything has it’s opposites,
so even the kindest animals will turn into carnivorous cannibals when all that’s left,
is blown kisses well wishes ***** dishes corrupt princes and spiritual paralysis,
this is the age of the dawning of Aquarius and the end of our passing genesis…

But what do I know I’m just a Son of a Gun on the run writing this mystic futuristic hit-list,
dressed to the nines with a bottle of moonshine and a bunch of empty cartridges,
in the Wild West with Clint Eastwood no Kanye clean as a whistle mixin’ with ***** Harry’s pharmacist,
The Good Bad & The Ugly drink in acid rain and eat magic cactuses…

Howling at the full moon with peyote coyotes absent minded off the absinth mix…

Alive right here left for dead insane and out of practice with,
no clean water in the canteen and circling are the vultures just above us,
this teenage wasteland has no purpose with,
riff raft rats and religious rabbits in the crosshairs with deserted desert tortoises,
see these badlands will make the most professional professionals seem like just silly naive novices,
there’s nothing more to see here in this mirage except my rusty gun as it tarnishes…

my visions getting blurry bodies stopped but my mind’s still hurried this is what exhausted is,
and I’d escape if I knew a way out but instead I stay because I’m not sure what my other option is…

See I knew I would go I told you before everyone is targeted,
so soon it seems I’ll be just another rotting carcass that,
the Culture Vultures overhead dine on as their dinner when feeling peckishish,
terminated no terminator but like Arnold said, “I’ll be back.”, like I just started this…


∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆