i'm living on a solitary prayer
vandalized my ego to make it rare
with teeth stained with lies i've told
and promises lost in the cold

i tussle and taser to hide my lovers
and all that i am - a mess or tastemaker
sprinkling tersely on my mercy seat
will make my season go complete?

i pull the labrys & the throttle
artefact-sprites in uranium soil
declaring my truth atop of the flagpole
i'm the custodian of haute culture

a flotilla of judgment riding skyhigh
like dido's love-lachrymose down demise
they say "better rethink your useless vendetta"
but first we'd better get out of their siberia

where the masses doubt the angry fix
"ignore the (g/h)aze above the pyramid
if we only couldn't have any more
locked in dominican ****** wards

I don’t remember what I was going to write

If it was a clever metaphor for love
Or a bitter commentary on life’s tragedies
Or a tale of sadness marred by teardrops on the page

My mind gets like this sometimes
A lot, in fact
It is a worn out engine:
There are still moments when the gasoline sparks into ignition
And the explosion rockets the world skyhigh
But more often
The pressure builds and builds…
To nothing.

Just like it did with this poem .

No need to flick the **** out of this monster
standing on a podium above our heads
looking down in distaste at what we, the poor, can do
or not do! Fodder, we are, trampled into stacks, rolled
into wretched bales and stacked skyhigh
on machines that run through  precision.

Once done, they stand above and lord
over their handiwork as we
the minions, muscled in on our lives
struggle to keep the factories going
feeding the fat bellies and guns
that will silence others across the thin divide
of territorial useless wars

Once in a while the fucktories will open
and spew many newborn into the guts
and glory for the motherland where birth
and bread are numbered and named with
berets and bonhomie, pretend play
at camaraderie. We perish unwept
at the crack of dawn and gunfire in long lines
on a battlefield where ideals are shouted
and gas chambers await dissent.

Driven like oxen to the national abbatoir
hair, teeth and nails collected, bones crushed
for gelatine soup and flesh shredded
for fertilisers to grow more cattle
to be fed more hay
to man the factories and fucktories
to make more children
to polish the forces
to line up and lament our lot

Switch off the power.
Switch off the power
Switch off the power
Switch off the power..........

Author Notes
The revolution takes a step back to WW11.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

im not skyhigh with this feeling of feeling
i don't like it when my heart floats in my chest
or when he watches the stars and holds my hand like im some type of catch
i can tell you right here and right now kid, that i might as well be the rusty metal handlebars on your first bike.
i may look strong
but i can promise you that i am not.
you can pedal me long and far
but eventually
i'm gonna
give out.
give up.
and
give your heart away.

so what's the use in loving someone (something) so temporary?

i hardly know you
but i know that
you make me fly
and
i'm afraid of heights.
                     (you)
                           .

          as much as i wish you were
we're just not on the same plane of understanding, darling
i fly so high that i get lost in the clouds
and you're hanging onto my toes
digging your claws into my legs
can't you see that
I just want to be free..?

sooner or later
things are going to fall apart.
we are going to fall.
and
this love boat is bound to go up in flames.
nothing lasts long with me
the sharks in my head will chew you up and spit you out
and
ill eat away at your heart until nothing is left.
and yes
i know
that you can see the guilt in my ocean eyes
i admit that
i'm the sea monster who comes up and steals all your love, dear sailor.
i only take it from you
so you don't give it to her

i want your love
as much as a scubadiver
wants a ships anchor on their chest.

but the suffocating is kind of lovely, in its own way.

ive grown attached to you like the barnacles on my brain..
you're a pain
but i think i want you around

at the same time
you make me want to inhale all the ocean into my lungs
And sink to the bottom.
become like i once was
lost.
nothing.

and our plane has crashed
and i've broken my fragile wings like glass
on the fall into
this ocean
and this story i cried for you
be careful, tread some water
and
dont cut yourself on the glass I leave behind.

your the wreckage
and im the girl in shambles on the beach.
my heart didn't survive,
my emotions died
but you saved a little sliver of your love to feed the beast inside me.

i think i like you
but i thought i liked him
and he forced me
to bed
and tied me down with ropes
that felt like lies
and tasted like salt

and now i am
nothing,
   but a hermit crab


*trying to find a new shell.

concerning yours truly
poor righteous leftist sole.

Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 11:33
two thousand twenty two
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry contestants,
hence exception to

maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
the fountain head
whereby marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
then melted starter blocks
competitors crouched tigerlike
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mister (oak kay)
tree - man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat
for sakes Pete.

Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,

supplicating, necessitating,
imploring, and decrying divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (the missus)

salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically pulling
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design

nearly defying might
of super rich a$$ a nein
bird brainer heron
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces unknotted free
and clear whirled,
wide webbed formerly tangled skein
fo shoe more intolerable
than swallowing quinine.