All is vanity*

Denied, all under a veil of secrecy,
Big waves that are hidden in the
Darkness of night, still turn boats,
Capsized by the enormous vast
Presence that no one sees but still
In essence we feel we're "safer," guided
By the way of the darkest truths light.

It controls each person, to hide unique
Truths with our own vague, hidden lie,
Make sure we all know it's there,
My how we stumble upon the nail
In the dark, whilst cleaning our visible
Skins surface of debris. It's all you see,
The "devil" is that cessation of this pain,
This suffering foot that bleeds.

You turn the corner and find yourself
Unawares in the darkness of this light,
Hidden underneath your cotton enclosure,
It will lead you in "earnest," it will show you the way,
It will empty your purse of quarters, it will make
Sure the suns light can never find you in the fullness of
Natures own "un-important" borders.

I
Suddenly, I'm nostalgic,
for the times when life was simpler,
and we were blind to the evil that dwelt amongst its thrushes
where we played.
We coloured its black and white pages
with crayons,
and placed them somewhat carelessly
into the folders of our memories.
Now we constantly search for them,
and the joy that was once ours.

II
The dark was my sworn enemy,
but now I embrace it with open arms.
Curiosity was once my dear friend,
now I've all the answers I never wanted.
Questions continue to bloom
in my garden of knowledge
and I let them die.
Afraid to know the truths,
I would rather nourish the lies
I have planted.

III
Suddenly I am nostalgic,
for the times when life was simpler;
when I could admire the roses,
without glancing at their threatening thorns;
when I could freely laugh,
and not feel the tears behind my eyes;
when I could dream my whole world up,
and not fear it will come crashing down.
Ignorance was really bliss,
and freedom, never my wish.

What is sharing? Abraham Lincoln said "Sharing is Caring..."
What is it though?

*I want to share my dreams with others,
I want to share this wild world with them,
I want to be a part of the natural goodness,
I want to find truth in solutions, not problems,
I want to avoid being part of a cult,
I want to avoid the haters, graffiti and gangs,
I want to achieve higher goals than laymen,
I want to be something different, not insane,
I want to have an uncommon interest,
I want it to be one not necessarily having to be
That of religion, destruction, politics or guns,
I want others to believe something different,
I want us all to be able to share honest, simple love.

a wise old sage from Louisiana, smoking cigarettes,
—which i stole one from that same pack later that day
and smoked it and almost threw up
behind the kind old episcopal woman’s house,
who the sage and i were living with in Memphis in july,
because we both were working on a stage somewhere in town
and we needed a place to stay a while, to watch summer rise from spring,

and i needed a place for you to **** me,
     my phantom,
     you, who, countless times, the Louisianan sage warned me about,
and the old episcopal woman hopefully knew nothing about,

   who, chanting truths of freedom and songs of singularity,
      white-haired, rose-gardening,
solitary and
    alone and
       buried alive
    in the walls of her house,
surrounded by her memories,
like the coffee mugs i accidentally stole
    when I left in August,
which, as it turns out, they were heirlooms of her dead mother’s—
    i cracked them all, i believe—

the louisianan sage, who once tasted the sweat of New Orleans’ blues jazz soul,
      now sitting across from me in the episcopal lady’s back porch,
                sipping coffee from one of her mugs
that i eventually took and inevitably cracked,
      this sage told me wide-eyed through cigarette smoke,
              seeing visions in the june blue sky,
‘the truth hurts. but a lie hurts more.’

the smoke rose to the clouds above our heads
like a sacrifice to god, and i rose with it,
and told him about september eighteenth.

and what it felt like to die
and come here.

All values die fast
For all of those who have seen
Easy ends and means

They dedicate their lives
To discovering things, being king of the hill,
So that all who notice their hypocrisy,
Their lies and deceit, their lack of principals,
Shall overlook them still, they are all about nothing
But "meat and potatoes," their means of existence,
And only pretend to be about love, honour, yet
Don't believe in the need to lose pride nor to
Go about the ways of dignity or of patience.

Tingly under the daisies;
   Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
   Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
   Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
   Westernizing—
   Romanizing—
   Constitutionalizing—
   Institutionalizing—
   Perpetually searching
   And dying
   And living,
   Watching Death survive
   And scythe the frolickers,
   The prancers,
   The rompers,
   The merrymakers.
   A rose clamped between his
   Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
   And he dances so joyously.
   “Yes!” say the naysayers,
   Confused are the soothsayers,
   Lost are the cartographers.
   Oh, Utopia!
   The monks are extravagant;
   The meditations are a farce!
   The preachers are beggars
   And swindlers and chargers,
   And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
   Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
   Ritualistically sacrificed,
   And their blood is spilled, drunk,
   Slathered over the ***** man.
   The evangelists scream and lie:
   “You are all predestined to die!”
   Oh, hail Utopia!
   Wedded are the girls to the girls;
   Wedded are the boys to the boys;
   Wedded is Death to Death,
   Life to Life,
   And Life to Death.
   Wedded are the living to the existent.
   And the milking babes are slaughtered
   Ceremoniously,
   Surreptitiously,
   Ostentatiously.
   Oh, hail great Utopia!
   We are all dead and unintelligent:
   Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
   Stupidity.
   Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
   Your retardation.
   Laugh, laugh, laugh!
   Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
   Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
   Aesop was drunk,
   Aristotle was delusional,
   Michelangelo was blind,
   Beethoven could hear,
   Poe was sane.
   And I can't read.
   They ramble,
   I watch.
   They sleep,
   I watch.
   They dream,
   I watch.
   They sleep-talk,
   I watch.
   They scream,
   I watch.
   They choke,
   I watch.
   They suffocate,
   I watch.
   Stone-faced, I stare;
   Raspingly, I breathe;
   Uncontrollably, I twitch;
   Inwardly, I rage.
   I hope you die, I hope you die.
   I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
   I want you begging and crying,
   I want you blubbering at my feet,
   I want you gnashing at my ankles,
   I want you writhing in pain,
   I want your arm twisted off,
   Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.

She hangs upon the ladder, looking out on all of her glorious creations,
This sun that beats down upon her, she cringes at the pain of it,
Stinging sweat slides all along the sides of her face of newborn nation
Grand things she has promised, although she would build a monument
To honour the dead who fought valiantly to protect their land,
Their new found supposed right to enslave.
And also don't forget their brave new world of uneducated
******, all-in-the family goodness, "un-needed" liberation of
Innocent blacks. Those unlawful ne'er do wells! She would fight
To keep them all to herself and her bidding, even to the grave!

*While in truth they have not committed any absolute crimes,
Like their ancestors-nor any reason why they are doing hard time.