The world is filled with division
Resulting in endless collision
Because we fail to envision.
We only use literal vision
Without a second of indecision
We jump to rash decision
And attempt to imprison
Those who caused the division
Without giving revision
To our lack of precision.
resulting in misprision
Which only adds to collision
And the terrible decision
To access our nuclear provision

The human soul, as vile as bile,
Savage Cruel disturbed infected and distort,
The human soul, obsessed with foul style,
Sinful confused mishandled and extort

Devoid of ethical human feelings,
Inflicted with raw sadistic hatred,
Grotesque depraved dismembered killings,
Ungodly occultism, unsacred

Sickness requires resolute treatment,
Stitches to repair ripped incisions,
Reducing the risk of dismemberment,
Catastrophe fractured by excision

Ceased decaying crippled in dreadful despair
Emerging from darkness, disturbed and aware.


William James

(note - This is a haibun; a Japanese writing form that combines haiku with prose.)*

Two days on the road, two thousand miles on my motorcycle. Hard miles; my *** so sore that every bump in the road brings biting pains up my back and down my legs.

I’m riding alone. No highways. No hotels. Camping in fields and eating in greasy diners. Seeing the America not available to the Interstate. The real America. I’m rough riding across the continent and this isn’t a mid-life crisis. I’m on a mission.

There’s been a ghost haunting me for five years. And yesterday, somewhere on the back roads of Nebraska, I left that ghost, the ghost of my cancer, behind. The specter of death that lingered on me, over me, and around me after excision of the tumors is finally gone.

Contrary to opinion, ghosts are heavy. With mine gone, I ride through the night – the stars and my newfound peace my sole companions. I stop only when the false dawn begins to turn into the real thing.

serpentine road
​curves into the sun;
  my throttle opens

The country diner I find myself in front of welcomes both me and the morning sun. I’m tired, sweaty in my leathers, and covered in road dust as I enter. And I’m deaf, the roar of the road is still loud in my ears.

I tell the waitress I take my coffee black – as black as my soul. My joke falls flat; what comes from my mouth is a rough growl, thanks to a dry throat. It earns me dark looks from the other diners. The ***** biker with no manners.

I have a moment of tired reflection and then I get a visitor to my table. An old lady, dressed in her Sunday best, moves with slow deliberation and takes an unexpected seat across from me. Her frail hands wrap my grimy ones in a cool and gentle grip.

Her eyes, framed by a wrinkled face that smooths as she smiles at me, capture mine before she bows her head and prays loud enough for all to hear. “Lord, please help this young man find his way. He’s lost, alone, and needs your guidance to help cleanse his heart and his soul.”

She kisses my hand and, without another word, stands again. There’s a reverent silence as we all watch her sit back down at her table and take a bite of her breakfast as if nothing exceptional had just occurred.

I look out the window as the rising sun reflects off of my bike, thinking that, here, maybe it wasn’t really that exceptional at all.   And thinking; lady – I’m not lost; I’m finally finding myself again.

red cardinal
alights upon my bike –
  notices me

Living in a different time zone, still reeling from past decisions.

Fighting venemous events to no avail,
not letting go of lasting mass incisions.

Excision of life's excitements.
Removal of my livers, kidneys, colons,
but still, I shiver in the coldness
of the living.

Admitting to the voices in my head,
that the Lord's mercy still extends,
into heaven for the choices of the dead,
who did the devil's bidding.

A foolish folly for a younger self,
to fall afoot amongst a rotten hell,
hellish landscape brought into the realm,
of mortals and the bedroom shelves.

All my dreams upon a table,
and in the dusty drawers there lies the pain.
Honestly I'm never able,
to entrust another lover with my reigns.

To fly I must begin to build momentum,
but something's caught up on me and instead preventing.

And slowing my ascension,

Also did I mention,
that every other moment that I spend here in atonement
is a ticking to a redder deathly sentence.

Repentance, with a mix of learned and unearned lessons, accuses those who lied.
Impresses extra stress especially when the ghostly men attend and lean up on my bedside.

I use to shy away but now I stare them in the eyes.

Fear's been long gone since childhood,
when crazy layovers in hazy places
played a part of strongly breaking bonds with those I thought were good.

I've felt my death a million times and dreamed it millions more.
And yet I never let myself fall victim to the final tricks of it's afflictions.

Meaning it's a situation still remaining unexplored.

I know what I lived for, and I know exists a future still in store.

But god ******* ****** life is such a chore.

Lord,
Give me strength and give me more.

I was in a six car collision
there was an executive decision made
to execute an evacuation of a body done with precision
by helicopter excision to division this family
and make a permanent revision to the vision held.

It's probable my daddy was being taken to a hospital
but he could have been going on a popsicle ride
to a proverbial icicle ride in the sky for that's all I knew of flying
volatile tears that never healed unstoppable fears.

Flesh and face and circumstance and
Cracked unlovely countenance--it's nothing to
Disappear when the stars dim down, still less to
Return when the moonlight slows. Ah, here it is.
The moonlight slows. Honour and promises and
Envelopes to birds, and now I'm awake.

I'm awake

I'm awake and my fingers
Seize in woven knots recurved,
Recurved and then recurved again and
Finally, recurved once more, my
Whickering prehensile claws unsheathe
From fingertip to elbow's lap.
Rotten cogs and motor oil and
Mince and copper wire, black
And tangled clockwork arcs in blue
Bouquets of ozone tracery--speaking presently,
Sleep never came and you never came and
This is so crazy but I'm virtually convinced I'm
Possessing of the incorrect number of limbs.

1
It was a past heart ache, and that alone
Set fire to the stake.
On it, a thief in very subtle attire
Two mouths and dressed in smoke,
It may hide its face, inviting my derision
But in allusion and courageous gaze
I knew it was me up there.
#2
Watching and waiting as he did
Before the crime, Time
Told him what was to come;
Still he stole, in misery, the hollowness, giving affection to an excision
(And then he was a saint)
So to faint in throes of his pining ways, bringing this judge
To bitter dismay
And a biting northern frost.
#3
And now I blame him, the othered me,
Condemning with a dissonant grin,
Satisfied, silent and quick to cry
From killing chunks of flesh born out of puppy-dog kid-stuff
Deciding each time:
Enough is never enough is never enough and whine when it is true.
It’s not a thief but ghouls of absolution:
I am the thief
Exist solely as this motif
And alief
It’s the heart that loves in all its strands
Sufficed to ****** innocent, then wash it of my hands
Each time I ignore that anguish
Ushers me on.

A little girl; so innocent

Broken, like concrete

Forsaken in this world

As God had chosen to replete

Forever damaged

Spare me the deceit

That I have long encountered

Mentally ****** and incomplete

I broke the mirrors

That distorted my vision

I am not perfect

I am far from precision

Just a judicial decision

To execute this excision

To ensure that this provision

Of unwanted unborn children

Remain broadcasted on public television

For the captivity of the elderly

Scorned, defeated and miserable

Left in utter decay

Salvaging day and night

Part of this twisted foreplay

That took place on Christmas Eve

For Chirst to be born

On such a horrible day, to entail

This sad story of evil

Demons from hell rose in this tale

But Jesus did nothing

Except to defy the Holy Grail

My exorcism, my ghost

To whom shall I toast?

To the one who left me to burn?

To define myself in these lies

God, I am flawed by your unconcern

Jesus, I am mocked by your reputable lies

For that you deserve a noble prize

Can't you see the concern in my eyes?

I have lost my allies

And I have become the worst

That I could possibly be

Part taking in these sins

Is that what you wanted from me?

You deny my existence

You hide behind pride

You force coincide

And you deny individuality

You force this conceited ******* to form

Or so you implied

Turns out the shock was worldwide

But that didn't stop you

From setting me aside

Sitting in your corner

Contemplating

Is she human or a mutation

Something somewhat malformed

Or perhaps just a devil

An ogre at best

Fine be that way

I am not one to detest

My worst side though

I do not advise you test

I am not blessed

For it is in black that I dress

"Satan's spawn!" they protest

Is it my fault that I am possessed?

Conniving and witty

I am sick of this mess

God you put me here

But nevertheless

I am obscene

And forever your mess

They say it gets better
but they never tell you when.

Isn't a breakup, after all, the surgical excision
of another whole person from your own?
Doc, gimme something to work with here
no post-op measures of comfort, no chemicals,
how long will these symptoms last?

Which day shall be the worst?
What can I eat?
How do I get to sleep?
Why is there so much vertigo?

I've lost my captain. I've lost my compass.

But forget North-

*what way is even up?

I should start being serious for a change
it’s not everyday that I get the chance to make my mark-
an eruption of countless warts- figuratively of course
they’ll remember even if they don’t want to,
like the stye that wouldn’t die despite surgical excision.

then there’s you
who wants to forget me
my girl, who did you **** last night?
I know we agreed to stop seeing each other
but I would love to hear your stories, inside you.

I’ll be gone in a few weeks
all this talk of seriousness has condensed on me
like the cold sores you leave me with
eye sores for coke ****** with daddy issues
I’ll be your daddy, I’ll even be your brother if it gets you wet.

Don’t slit my wrists yet
I can still manage a compliment some days
give me a hundred reasons to abandon my ways
and you know I won’t do it
you know I won’t even try.

I want a good **** before I go
maybe a cigarette after that
I quit smoking, but I’ll bump the easy one without warning
and ***, I won’t settle for anything less
I want you to watch as I take shots off your *******.

Wasted days that count down
quicker than your menstrual cycle
have left me wanting for time
I wouldn’t waste any differently,
probably, worse.

Preparation is turning out to be quite a grinding ordeal
late nights, empty pipes, lungs dry and well past ripe
tendons screaming for respite, finger tips peeled
your tongue- lets me know it’s time to sleep
If I wasn’t serious, I’d be picking up where you left off.

The words are deep and cryptic
All driving at something apocalyptic
Incense all thick and foggy in the room
We struggle to grasp our impending doom
The old lady watches us from the corner
Like a funeral with a condescending mourner  
She smiles a crooked smile
Her words invoked visions
Visions of humanities excision
Great fires will engulf us whole
And the great bells of the universe will toll
As we go insane for a little while
And it all seems to burst at the seams
And suddenly there are no sweet dreams
And we try to forget
And we all feel regret
But it echoes in our mind
And it destroys us in kind
Inside us was planted the seed of madness
The cold black women looked on at with a sadness
As we screamed and cried and laughed
The lady made use of her craft.
She disappeared
Leaving us with what we most feared
Knowledge of the future