How do you swindle the light?
This would be the greatest grift.
An ongoing experimental conn
where we all remember,
who the mark(s) is,
pretending, just in case,
behind the curtain,
sleight of hand,
behind the back,
if there is no wizard in the back seat,
just in case...you'll tell the kids:
'it was all for them.' So they could sleep.

Childhoods are just safe houses for hope.
In play roles come easy,
in assortments, and unpackages, separate;
but everyone knows the rules,
their part, they remember
that fairness is sacred to play.
Some games get played
and some gamers’ play is accidental.
The game like the carnival is vacuous,
inhaling all into its eye,
exhaling into its calm, swindles like a carney,
jettisoning all into the extinction of gratification.

The mystery lies in the conspiracy.
System can beat game, house, odds,
conn the conn and you can go home a winner.
The Universe is a big casino, you see.
And all you have to do is get up from the table,
cash in your chips, and figure out where your car is.
The house always wins, you’ll say.
But therein lies the reason we play.
Which you're sure to figure out in the lot,
cramped delineations garner thought,
you'll realize that therein lies nowhere.



The conspiracy lies in the abyss,

A place where villagers lose their cattle,
Costumed & uniformed, singing gray prayers.
Crop circles are diasporic clusters of hope.
Where science fiction invented the cold war,
Between ghosts created by radio waves.
A mass hallucination produced by trauma?
Dellusion v. Illusion
Nurturist v. Naturist v. Projection,
As long as it’s a weapon!
Destination unknown-
But just in case, let’s create something that can destroy us all.

I would that I could clasp hands, at once, with every diasporic man
And our hands could merge and rise up as a single fist
And all the subjective shades of our own colors and the
Daze of our own druthers would be shed in the process
Yes, I find that I absorb the pain around me like a fine osmosis
That unifies the minds forged in our generation’s social suffering
And I wish my skin would grow akin and reflect a synthesis
Because there is no bliss when men bisect people into “us” and “them”

I would that I could turn my insides out and transform my ***
Organs, as a moth does surge inside a closeted cocoon
Only to emerge with wings and the power of new found flight
And I wonder if I too could sing the perspective of new heights
Because there is only ******* in a world where those who
Share the same ****** shape cannot share the same heart
Are condemned to be kept apart by taboos viewed through institution
Started by confused men, afraid to admit that making love is a free art

I would that I could push my hand into the ground and grow
Roots that drive deep, past the sand, beyond the rending flesh
Of our loved ones’ bodies and mesh with the immortal earth
As if I could bolster, with my chemical composite, the site of true birth
Because when the mightiest of the world’s glories can be
Bought and sold for the price of arbitrary ******* figures
Written in the blood of forests, in the torn face of mountains
Then we can stop ignoring the forlorn thought of dark days before us

I would that I could bring back all those lost before their time
That a rhyme could sting the cold cheeks of slaves who never
Saw a western sunrise comprised of multicolor, of many brothers
That I could brush softly the minds of couples buried not together
And scream to them that time left some bereft of victories
Yet to shape their scene, yet to substantiate their dreams

Then I would quickly reseal the doors of slumber that guard
The restless dreamers of the past before revealing the
Horrors of societies stepping once forward, then twice back
Yes, before the haunting words of hateful choruses should
Ever shape their reposeful, moral-less, and peaceful sleep
For the hopeful eyes of soulful passing activists should never weep.

I propose every pre-existing value to myself, and I embody it.
I surge every thought towards it, I commit every diasporic cell to it.
I cradle, and I brood and dwell on it for years, until I can find no other reality to contest it.
I become narrow and hollow. I hiss at every attempt to eclipse my flaring sun of reality.
I become The Bitter Man. I will love nothing more than to project my bitterness unto others until I am alone; Manifest Destiny.
Until I fully epitomize the number 1, I will not relent.
I will churn myself into powder over thousands of miles of burnt asphalt and sips of coffee until I sit beneath chrysalis skies, in gravel ditches not inspired to even look up.
Sit up, sight & repeat.
I will continue on this wheel of values until every value is impotent
*And total freedom will ensue.

Throughout history
in a Diasporic condition
and through the pagan
goes
another Jew sacrificed to the flesh
the World
and the devil.

Not in hiding
but seeking
redemption;
the purge--
only comes
after death.

For the next generations renewal?
Woe unto those limits of human freedom.

Let those seeking salvation convert; or let God present a sacrifice completely consumed by fire: burnt offering.

While Jesus suffered still...
those elected to **** Christ; as Judas was also chosen.

Compelled to sin,
by obligation,
on the cross of the Baphomet.

Where flesh is offered
as sacrifice
to that lord satan,
guiding them,
to hell on earth.

While having you hope
for Rapture.
As the Jew takes the place of the Church and Christian.

I reach for the Cross
aiming for the heart of the vampire
and brain of the zombie -- pogromed of glory.

Have your way upon the World especially ******.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor