When it's quiet, except for
the fan in the hall
and apathy crawls across the
floor like a spider
and the enemies are
thicker than friends
and the brain dries up
and the flame goes out
and writing a decent line is
like panning for gold...
Remember
it's a long row to ***.

When nothing touches
you but the rain
and the wind, and the
pain from the sins of
your youth
and every fruit in
the garden is rotten
and you take a bite
just to keep from starving, and now
what you know can't be forgotten,
remember
it's a long
row to ***.

When each pain is new
and every sorrow is fresh with
the opening of the eyes
and
if
you're blind to the darkness
of the world
or
you see it all too well...
remember
it's still a
long row to ***.

Looking back on this turbulent year,
I see so many beautiful colors
which shine through any passing fear,
or incessant trials whether small or large.
I often get caught up in momentary
hardships, losing sight of all the glories
but if I neglect the good it carries
I may miss the opportunity for memories.

It's all trial and error;
weighing heavy on
the latter.
When I feel like this,
I want to build an
exit machine;
walk through it to
a different life.
Too many irons in
the fire, I'm burned
beyond recognition.
The situation unfolds
like it always does,
I fall down, and
then get back up.
But I'm tired, and sometimes
the ground is comfortable,
and way too familiar.

Holstered at high noon
Blistering with festered wounds
First of many moons

Fire raining down
Tap a vein of blood in the ground
Void of life and sound

Shelter for relief
Burn the place around my feet
Respite that I seek

Perish in my youth
Yellow candles light the room
Cultured yet uncouth

Painted red the town
Carnage glistens all around
Gone and left to drown

Woken by the cries
A place I still recognize
Dreams arrive to die

Atone and bleed the sin
An evil presence descends
Quell the rage within

I won't die in vain
Nefarious and insane
Poppies soothe the pain

Worn upon our sleeves
Phasing unpredictably
Nature of the beast

Tread lightly forward
Origin of vile scourge
Yet ventured onward

Grains of salt and sand
In reunion holding hands
Flee this barren land

day 8
bootjacks,

and she picks it up naturally
seamlessly
almost too easy  
   too familiar
the tobacco sprinkled with
that sour white powder
re rolled and smoked

she keeps taking hits
thinking halfway that
maybe mixing drugs is where things begin to falter
but this is where they pull the powder out their socks
and line it up for her to try
innocent, baby
with the dollar bill in her hand
between her teeth
and propped beneath her nostril

why do you want to be here so bad?

why do you find it so easy
to trace the ears of strangers with your tongue
and find comfort in their warmth?

why is it easier to mean nothing to each other?

when will it all be enough?

when will you realize you
are still made of stardust —

rest.

you will find that stardust again.

Encephalon is the flagitious syndicate target
To imprison the saintly and resistant population
In the research agenda which is classified
We are selected guinea pigs in a nightmare
To the unethical secret operations
Unknown to many, is the silent suffering
Of isolated victims living amongst the community
Satellite surveillance includes electromagnetic harassment
That burning, thought stealing, control of limbs feeling
I was done by the hoary Navy's sonar
Poor dolphins washed up Cornwall's beach(1)
After sonar echoed in my right lughole
Mind control technology has evolved
The community are recruited by false propaganda
Thats the local police, council, library, not restricted to neighbours
Old style Cointelpro is in play
Discredited, slanders, and victim blaming
Who can we share with but other targets
Nobody asked which human is for "use" in trials?