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Michael Marchese  Sep 2017
Exiled
Michael Marchese Sep 2017
The realist idealist
Marxist on acid
Unruliest Julius
Social class bashin'
Hash waxin' Jet Jackson
I'm back in it, packin'
My 9 days of fastin'
And rockin' my Rama
Like Lama of Dalai
To Burma, Malawi
I'm thirsty for Mali
Diwali to light up in spite of the plight
From the right, I'm so left that it's theft
All I own is the night
I been deep in the jungles
Apocalypse Now
Reading little red books
About chairmen named Mao
But like Gandhi's ahimsa I'm teaching them how
We make no man's land peace
From they cash Curacao

Where I see water everywhere
But not a drop to drink
Just hydro-frackin' krakens
They're unleashing on your kitchen sink
And still the rising Apartheid
Brings death before the dioxide
Insecticidal suicide
And herbicidal genocide
Colombia? That's classified
It's why I build my ark from FARC
Embarking on my Narcos kick
A fix fit for a Bolshevik
For now my journey never ends
Until I cure this homesickness
"Fascism is capitalism in decay."
-Vladimir Lenin
juttu  Nov 2017
Fall
juttu Nov 2017
I wanted to jump
A twelve foot fall wouldn't do much harm
Would probably break a bone or two
But would save me from a bigger fall

They would put me on the strongest legal narcos
I could spend a week or two
On the recliner bed in a TV room
With the nurses just a click away
Visitors would be a major pain
But the visits would cease in a couple of days
Then they would forget
or wash their guilt with a phone call

I was tempted to jump
They would call an ambulance
With blaring sirens and nervous men
And a poor soul stuck in the traffic
Would squeeze his vehicle in desperation
To make way for the ambulance
And his friend would go
"लगता है आज फिर किसी ने jump मार दी?"
Kìùra Kabiri  Mar 2017
DENS
Kìùra Kabiri Mar 2017
Dens, devils dark alleys
Apart from the quiet disco beats
The house-techno-electronics melodic
Or timbres of the naughty riddims rhythmic
And the dim coloured alternating disco-lights
Else, Dens are blurry dark
With all addicts-of ***, narcos or gins

In there no one sees no one
Just the silent talks of sins around
The usual businesses brought them there
In the mixture of multicoloured lights
So no one will talk of anyone once lights returns
Yet they shared something in common
A gal maybe, a cocoa puff or a shisha vapour!
A cigar smoke or a ***** tot and danced it ***** to dawn

In there are naked nudes-
Dames as well as few muscled-dudes
Teasing silent seated decent dressed
Stripping, selling their worth or wealth
To these willingly seriously immerged
In the occults of the immoral ****

Some are seductively rolling with the podium poles
Their greased groins incised on it metallic luster
Grating-grinding-dancing dirtily down
Its silvery smoothness in timed tempting
Slow spicy synchronic, slutty slides  
Watching the salivating seated
Erotically elated shift in their chairs

Some, skimpily skinned are snaking their boneless bodies up-down
In caressing zigzags of mastered dancers ***** arts
Immorally exposing their mostly expensive parts in bits
To tempt and trap these blind corrupted moths in their Lucifer’s lights
Forcing them to dig deeper their posh pockets to pay to be bemused  

Business here is crooked, dark!
Like ***** and her Gomorrah
Or Tyre and her Sidon
It begins with the fall of the night:
The extinguishing of the day's light
And ends with moments to dawn’s bright

In there all night are all dealers of immoralities
Of dark arts, of *** or of drugs  
Goons as well as criminals of government deals
And the corrupt business billionaires sandwiched
Richly enjoying the **** of the sinfulness-
Sharing, wasting, the rapacious richness
Of their easily gained supernormal profits
On these salacious naked nudes, free to feel

In there in the masquerade of these rainbow lights
No one sees no one, no one will say of anyone
Just cash exchanges hands
You got it, you get what you need
All the services you want-its all at your watch
With just a snap of the finger, all easily you acquire
You are the master, everyone else your servant slave-
At your disposal to your utmost attendance

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
honey primer for the death-lasso
of choice...
here's no... alternative...
for entries into hotel dallas...

      there's all the quick-equipped
miachel frenzied ******
of shovelling all the empty
eggs... limbo embryos speaking
whole, while scribbling
braille in fractions...

on the grand altar of Moloch...
and there's that cue of them
also playing-deaf playing dumb-hard-of
ever being heard:
burn a bra all you like...
i won't be burning a vinyl record
any time sooner than the sooner,
or a now...

here the crumpet solves its
esteem when facing a brawl with
a croissant...
here the ant lifts a mountain in its jaw...
here american head charge
overtakes the sales slipknot records...
here's the first... the last...
here's the lapdance of being reassured
to hear the ec- the ech- the ech-oh-oh-oh-oh!

ever hear the vibration speak
multiple tongues akin to a hydra?!

i'd be worried if they spelled it was:
the wielki lebowsky.. sure as **** a russian
spy... otherwise?
that laid back... dumb pollack...
which is hardly a *******...
              
  i call it bile, i call it acid... i call it...
the sort of populism of darwinism doesn't
like... when your spine stand *****
and you wake up dancing to
what a chinese army square march
of: that lot of the lost abode
of tiananmen square looks like...
when the chimps get the herpies...
and the lions start to turn all fidgety prone
when the affairs of being excited by
that infamous translation of the chase...
suddenly "oops": i.e. become missing...

          who's to become the last
bridge of king solomon's harem... that last
period piece to be the ghost to
the last known location of the gridlock
of last clinging to coal...
are any revision of thios obscure
period ore going to be a matter of choice?!

for the love of my fellow countrymen...
and country...
but only at a distance...
perhaps me better dying from an overdose
of patriotism in that ******* that future
jewel of the ottoman empire that's
become the better part of Istambul...

it's hardly enough to quiet simply...
die...
but who the hell... or has been dying
with the sort of ammo that would
give him or even a her...
the sort of "forever" thinking that would
leave one with epitaphs as
consorts of: the matter... temporal...

right before ol' charlie zee drei...
is about to be my hand of god...
my limbo argentina of lizzy's prized
asset of...
      i want to spend a tenner with
ol' charlie on it...
before i die...
i want charlie on the banknote...
before i feign enough affairs
of concerns as to whether i'm shy...
or not... i want to spend charly's tenner...
i want him to be bound to the escapade
of crown and *****...

i want to see charles throned!
i want to see charles crowned!
****** better not change his name...
i'd call 'im: third chucky the lucky!
he's no george the IX or some richard
the IV.... charles name given...
charles king to govern...
and bright lights the third!

i am waiting... lizzy will not live
long when the prized attache of
the duke of edinburgh solves the riddle:
no... no clones allowed...
locating the prowess of a hardly visible...
then again: who's going to pay for the cure
of not being made subject to the stampede...
that's half the emblem value of a crown?

but the frankenstein is in our grasp!
we can cheat death...
however many more years a dolly of pardon,
the sheep will allow...
how many more years it would take...
for a clone to replicate the psychology
of the host, bearer and the futurism of what's
to be inherited...
besides all that...
the clone would become a michael
jackson?! ******* to the point where...
no harem would suffice?!
ever play playdough with a faking
of immortality - attempting to transcend
individualism with poker / polka dotting
of the grand, grand... bet?

                  i'm currently in the process
of applying ice-cubes for a hard-on of an idea...
look at me... who's who and who's
the falafel flinging arch-ape?
darwinism is an ideology...
a bit like...
                 it's not that it's wrong...
but... it's a thesis... and as a thesis
it's also an idea...
and there's only one way to counter it...
with an idea...
so that there's a currency...
an antithesis for it to come toward
a symbiosis of... in equilibrium...
                    
                   looking up an ape's *******
is pretty much not enough
to state: bertrand russell just roasted
an aristotle...
            in no defence of the greeks...
wasn't a bertrand russell a philosophy historian...
who was... subsequently...
made into a mezzo-soprano...
becoming galvinized by adoration
for wittgenstein:
the genius! will a lion know
of a sunday... should he also roar
to somehow later yawn... and in between
a wednesday and a meow:
concern itself with a concept of friday?!
because it's golgotha
crucifixion "o'clock"?!

     hardly... who's the who of what
will not become the revised glory days
of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth...
or great britain: when the charles dickens
was asked to look inward: ****** himself...
the great of what isle...
the scots living in iceland?!

             or the baggage of U.2.I.R.A.?!
god help us... alcoholics and narcos...
with all that history aids aids it allows...
anonymous anonymous.
   the... anon. anonymous.
     oh; we're here...
                 fidgeting when it comes
to custard creams.... and all that shortcrust
packing!

when ol' charlie lands into my lap...
into my hand of a worth of spending a tenner...
until then... not until...
will i consider calling it a...
an execution in demand for...
being dragged into a cell nicknamed...
the "christine chubbuck lovelorn:
forever the homecoming queen
harem lovelust"...

urban myth: dead-shot to the head...
the decapitated cockroach lives
2 weeks without a head... ah... ah... ha...
it's hardly about being owning a sense
of humour... when all you need
is a reality check...

advent: and a soccer-mum and all those
period pains and
all those many more one direction
fandoms dying pretty in their teens...
here's my voice... morphed into...
burden: to gloat...
never mind the gloating...
but when someone can replace
having to stage staring into a mirror?

call it... dying from a lack
of obstruction from the dimension
of the abstract;
or hotel... coal-founded: florals and the annals
of would be: back to...
without and a with alzheimer'*******br>of: huh?!
The Reds won by turning capitalism and democracy against us The frenzied shortsighted pursuit of individualism enraptured by its own grandiosity Obese in arrogance and false piety Among our weakest links the myth of liberty in the guise of protection against our own From My Cold Dead Hands they will eulogize the depths of our hypocrisies tucked into the gaping cracks of a marbled column tombstone that reads We the People a hollow echo from a dead philosophers guilded mirror reflecting delusions of equality while his window glimpsed the reality of People bound as chattle An era of monsters championed as heritage by a devolved theater of gross absurdity enraptured by a sycophantic maelstrom swirling a wretched mass of vitriolic grievance creeping its facists tendrils through our halls our homes and our hearts So much bluster about essential freedoms now a **** in the wind from a constituency of the ignorant dead eyed before the altar of Exceptionalism A manifestion of the truly unexceptional by a bizarre cult of personality devoid of that very essence Whiny and bloated convinced its oily opulence is somehow self evident justification for its own cavernous gluttony Heavy the privileged jowels spew hatred and lies slathered in corruption shouted as truth through the arcanity of scripture among those who would not know the forest from the trees from the rot in their minds as long as it says so on the TV vomiting endless propaganda of imagined shadow forces flooding the country with fictionalized caramel colored criminals Willingly blind barrelling into a fog of twisted fantasy failing to realize that the narcos envisioned pale by comparison of heinous intention or deed to the very real NARCs embraced Lockstep and jackboot heel in tow behind a tide of Nationalism that is anything but A contrived patriotism cannibalizing its own mythology whittling the bones of history to alternate facts devoured by fat children as so much sugary cereal bored reading the Constitution from the back of a whitewashed cardboard box ******* about a return to values and integrity they dont possess with their fingers crossed Cowing to the blackened whims of spineless parasitic wraiths picking at the shades of fallen titans Packs of roving dipshits trumpeting ideals their grandfathers died to eradicate Prancing about sporting the finest camo and tac gear in a perverse sashay Their measure of civic duty reduced to how much red white and blue crowds their shitstained boxers dowsed in cheap beer and sad rivulets of encrusted ***** trickled in a shame for which they have yet to fully account or atone Fools leading the foolish to oblivion are we God bless the USA for surely no creature under heaven would
A madman’s humanity
of which we decry
When he has those feelings
the same, you and I

How can he commit
such actions of death
Then cry when a comrade
lets out his last breath

A madman with feelings
the concept abhors
That he loves his children
his dog and his ******

His body dies ******
his legend to live
Embroiled in fury
—only time can forgive

(The New Room: May, 2022)
Watching ‘Narcos’ on Netflix
Reconciliation with gender prejudice
Tactics.
Generation of crackhead.
Turned to pay taxes.
Get jobs back at it..
And smooth out like wax is...

Turtle power. For my little ninjas
Never call em ******
We bigger in the *******.
Let compassion be the winner.
For my instrumental hitters
And my little kidda with the wishes...

Mercy to the vatos...
Legalize the narcos.
And swerve like the suburban
To suburban nostrils...
Get the addict a hospital..
Get em cleaned up and watchful.
So only moderate users
Pay out there pockets for contra.
Jobs on the spot though
For rehab cons we want bro...
*** every job creates taxes
And taxes bring jobs yo....
Incarcerstion like taxes
Wasted on teaching men
How to be macho...
Rehab those cons and you dont gotta
Watch out bro...
*** once a man starts to build
He dont want to stop no....

— The End —