The Beast, it lies,
The Beast, it cheats,
It gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet,
Its teeth are long,
Its teeth, they scar,
No person is left unmarked
It size, unmeasurable
Its weight, unweighed
Its whereabouts, untraceable
Its name, unnamed,
But the Beast wears a familiar mask you see
A mask so familiar, so familiar indeed,
This unmeasurable, untraceable, unnamable beast,
Who gnaws and gnashes at your knees and feet
It roams by night, by day it hides
The fearsome beast who lives inside.

Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure *****
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.

Playing her parchment moon
Precosia comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.

Gypsy, let me lift your skift
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.

Precosia throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breahing and burning sword.

The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.

Precosia, run, Precosia!
Of the green wind will catch you!
Precosia, run, Precosia!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.

Precosia, filled with fear
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.

Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.

The Englishman gives the gypsy
a glass of tepid milk
and a shot of Holland gin
which Precosia does not drink.

And while she tells them, weeping,
of her strange adventure,
the wind furiously gnashes
against the slate roof tiles.

pain brought on by an apathetic existence
a desire to taste chaos in the flesh
i ***** my soul, dredged from the depths
as death rises, creaking - a gory deity
from my shattered, broken back
gnashes it's filthy, cracked teeth
this barbed, twisted creature rears it's ugly head
as guttural growls wrench free from a torn
throat - wracked with convulsions, sickeningly
sheds a blood and gristle carapace
reborn into rot, steaming flesh sloughs
from it's face to reveal an impossible amount
of needle-like teeth, stretched into a wicked grin
slowly, like creeping mold, the mouth opens
and regurgitated from it's putrid depths...
...a single beautiful butterfly - spun from the
finest gold, inlaid with the most vibrant precious gems
floating on the whisper of a breeze, it lands
on my empty eyes and begins to feast

I've always had those moments
when I seem braindead
but really I'm just overthinking
a passed or impending situation

Making two-star dramas and slasher films
I'm the silent victim
that should've saw it coming
in my soothsayer premonitions

Wish I could drop a bag of bones
and let them come up with
the mood I should be in

These small woodland animal spirits
prancing around my world
tell me what's life's deal
and sometimes make me fearful
when I'm in a badly lit room alone


It's not the dark that gnashes
but that which most wants the light


As if, life is about burning your hands
on many light bulbs, 'till some source
slurps up your essence and your stuck
finding the portal to the next level
fighting and collecting dragons on the way
fighting and collecting dragons on the way

As a child the world is beautiful and everything in it,
delicious.
So there we are laughing at cartoons,
chasing butterfly kisses in the wind,
and crying about how "Billy said I couldn't ride his bike because I have blonde hair!"
You have your own bike which makes little to no difference.
Kids are cruel.
Rebel.
"*******, Billy! I've got my own bike!"
Years pass.
We grow and come face to face with reality.
The world is named Billy.  
Billy gnashes his black,
tar covered,
teeth.
Nostrils fill with his nicotine masked morning breath as he's kicking your ***.
You're awake now,
face down on a park bench burying your own ***** in the dew drenched sand at 10 a.m.
You rip apart at the seams
The wounds of time open in your brain
And you are no longer satisfied.
The ***** you drank to drown your pain becomes you.
A manifestation of time,
age,
and bittersweet friendships
forgotten or vanquished by Billy are forefront in your mind.
Time has consumed you.
Billy has swallowed you whole.
Living has never become more important than when life is threatening to abandon you.
Time is up.
Your savior demolished you.
Liver shriveled,
heart black,
brain dead,
and soul less.
Killed at the bottom of a bottle and crawling
NO!
begging for forgiveness.
Reality strikes.
You once again remember your need for Billy.
Billy, that bad *** with his two chrome wheels and distaste for blondes.
Loathing his existence.
The smell of Billy ever present as the sweet taste of life drains from your tongue.
Slipping has never been more difficult.
Drawing a last breath of bitter air into your lungs as you whisper
"*******, Billy. I have my own bike."

Lambasted by the bushwhacking shambles of potsherds burrowed beneath enchanted rhapsodies of sunken Earth lurks a might unleashed by the preemptive dirges of Heaven
Shattering the weight of mismeasure adaptive to apt remarks of conservatory stellar repartees gilded in the flombricks of insuperable gammon wed to the divorce between mammon and guardian treasure etched by revets of colorful nuance but colorblind fortitude chalky yet with scattered sound blinking in the wink of intelligentsia a thousand parsecs of understanding in milliseconds of orbit
The periphery of forgotten stars bereaved but informed of circular axioms of axiolative thermolysis bellowing stoked smokestack locomotives of hibernal clairvoyance dare to wonder beyond limited or enhanced pulchritude the denizens of thievery stolen in a flashbang grenade of a new Grenada of fustilugs gabbling in flushed rosy red tongues of frenzy or aplomb what lurks beyond centurion sentinels of robotic half-witted half-baked semi-cooked bludgeons of cruel insensate irony withheld by vulcanized drapes of curtailed curglaff fashioned by kneaded distance and suspended for heaved awakening at riometer’s knock barnstorming the crude churlishness of the foreign at trespass of the inane scaled down by infamies unstated and flanged to appropriate provisions of measure that conquest lurks behind recess and all is grafted from the callous pachyderm skin of absolution cozy to remedies but aloof from necessities of pang and Tang rollicking magpiety like a rotten pastime aged past its due.
Yet the batting average of the uncanny visitor undaunted by glaring photogenic record balks at precedent and aims to lollygag his chicanery roundhouse above the ricochet of enamor to whilded terminus at circular diamonds soaring illimitable skies boundaries to another nothing beyond the past of something worthy of pearls piggish in appetite for oysters to inhabit
Yet these cloistered vacuums between the pleonexia of the avarice of retches of chyme and the digestion of complete guarantors of shielded heterochrony wassail on dreams Titanic and sunken living repeatedly in revised stereodimensional waves of registry beyond fundus hijacked by towering dimensions ulterior to the profaned foresight of the wretched dimensions of reprehensible coteries belonging lost even when fetched by glimmers of the profound.
The riches of aberrant mobilized fleets swung into tether pole centripetal flictions of swarpollock surpassing credibility and peace surmounting mountebanks of petty finicky itches of cretaceous extinction mapped to qwersy frugal mathematical jokes recoiling at rebarbative manifest destiny belong to the records of soundracketeer trivialization of malleable gold fashioned from Whisky Bar encounters with goldmines ascertained in magic by the suspense of upholstered dramaturgy lurking beneath tall crestfallen visagists who toss and bandy about in tempests of curdacted flow emissary and envoy to flajousts emergent from the verdure of aboriginal machinery fumbled by human ergonomic chicanery espoused by asylum rather than touted as marksman prestige flippant by inordinate gavels ****** asunder into delignated copper-brass keys of foreboding prisons on sinking ships for counterfeit litanies of bogus warning meeting inclement poverty to a drawn sine in the sand vacillating on purpose but intransigent in declension.
Starlet gnashes of odontoloxia wavers of tangential tendentiousness escaping the orbit of enumeration by sly remarks surprising the elective prerogative for convergent autumn to skittish paces of fast-forward beating the brumal bears in their gelid lollygag reminders why the 2nd protects the 1st and the primacy of interposition is the immediacy of flexed muscular DeLoreans cavorting with fringes of unfurled destiny in flashbang instants between the space among malingered pauses among secondary waves of betrayal shift the curious rip tide of stretchgraves too ennobled for widescreen yet narrowly faint in their promontory illusions as mantelpieces of emblazoned scarlet A’s for nothing more than a tempestuous flair with stigma but simultaneously the realization of true dreamy blues escalating around tensions finessed into ****** before drooping into the droll 1850s as the balderdash of detriment belonging to the salvo of picturesque still-life expressionism dripping troudasque in antiquity with flairs of impertinence celebrated more by melodrama than by billows of industrial hinderbaggle toxic to the stated alarmism of trinkochre preventing treony by the warbles of songbirds hemmed in by bushwhacking galactic police forces of granted licentiousness for backbites in the feral canine drollery of aged literacy chosen over youthful foofaraw belittled by retches of attentive brevity rather than protracted obtuseness: neither ideal for the gravity of aborning centuries
Yet we dally in convergent esprit filibustering rhymed cadavers of cadence for prurience in ebullient parvenu damsels vacant from the setting but entranced by the galloping herds of buffalo formidable with warmth because of death and locomotive drive-by shootings Daphne wouldn’t miss.
Yet what Mission Impossible has a BioCyte worthy of henpecked ransom and detached villainy of a trespassed appendix bursting in the Young crowd much to the awakened dismay of the colored affront to black-and-white hubris finicky in oligochrome yet fainter yet than stellified bronteums burgeoning in generativity separated by inherent gulfs of heterochrony balking at submissions fished by loaves of interest in the hambasket of aswallone fractious to redshort individualism in the subhastation of Jurassic prowls of replication hibernal for millions of extinct permanence scowling only by the mandibles of crackjaw Samson yielding his jaunty hair to flummoxed Cutthroat Collapses trimming yardstick furloughs of pleckigger for demotic flavork above fishy warbles of tilted pretense vagrant to everybody simultaneously renowned for arrested cacophony but bridled by few examinations barnstorming teetotalers with haunted patrons of aged wine speaking redivivus in contemplation.
Measured glare radioactive to lizards beneath Mojo Grooves monikers fielding “fly away” as transcendental harpsichord anagrams filter through lavaderos of hackneyed nockerslugs berating illusion for conflation in the influx of dacoitage among Vikings who swim flanked by sonic blares of innocuous dolphins floating dead by the carnage of bloated whales and ridiculous spates of welter above conscience ragged with tetherball futility.
Sparring with engastrimyths sapping the sapwood of sappy banality for toonardical lullabies that pacify opposition more than the Pacific is internecine to volcanic tirades of seismotic jolts of burgeoned awakening I vanquish petty sneakthievery with the unspoken power of a Tweed that masquerades not on ******* but on virtual rhymes cascading throwaway brown-brick fifties collapse on Dagon armed with gnashing poise against guttural gubbertushed victimized flippant fantasias arrayed to brook the decrepit streams of my elevated retinue for staged intrepid barnstorms against phony assassinations to prove petty Edison powerhouses clairvoyant in even their specious participles of quantum irony decisive in fliction marveling at sensible conveyor belt beltways infested by sluggards of inferior hives contrary to every inclination of self-edified skyscraper invented by the mettle of industrious man
So swanky in boast but gingerly in insightful discretion I careen ping-pong victories into a plevisable fortune of Bubba Gump wealth and Fortune Magazine ostentation as the ringleader in Barnum’s neutered circus that never spays a single sword of creation in the barnacles of progeny and progress frogmarched by cruelty and vehement in suppositions of craven popinjay popples of a whangam metropolitan artifice tinsellated with angles of trim prance above suburban ecstasy in transcendent flash and peerless reaches of stratosphere above mundane plaid macaroni witeless in the sterling grace of foreign domestication of livable conditions abiding by aborning stardom.
Harriet Tubman flowers on the bedside of ****** seances of 70’s Parisian cafes gerrymandered by hobohemias of herculean heft squaring account with encompassed brevity in byword dazes with ***** futures yet to court the cordial consensus in dodged drafts of fumiduct riots bailing upon New York Time for 44th street colored incineration of an orphaned Africa embodied in a totemic titan with reninjuble peerless majesty compromised by a frapplank in immodest incisive harpricks of fumbled swerves against the original proclamations anniversary to Boston Indians revolting against Manifest Destinies magnified in incidental clarity by bestowed churches fuming with rampant clairvoyance tamed by the grisly realism of intermittent thaumaturgy swaddled by the reconnaissance of eventual warps blistering in milliseconds to overturn the ultimate row that the mire always wades through in impoverished egestuous profligate convenience of hamstring declension against chary mettle in scruples by elementary riddles in precise junctures of sanctity the bodewash of slick partisan gibes of a puppet show vampire avenging Sarah Marshall. Harriet Tubman is an overblow of subniveal pickets of defensive clarity to immemorial churlish katzenjammer of a protracted flux capacitor dynamos in abolished feral groves of bohemian legend rather than ignoble rhapsody flirting with apartheid’s chosen engineers whittling an indelible scourge of hatred rather than a revived simian immunity scalded with potboilers of sveldtang water scorching like Helsinki after Stockholm goes up in conflagration over bonanza of wednongue dative duress in impregnated purpose skanky with ministered drivel of doytined attempts to flicker a switch exorcised by the integrity of neuroscience besides an intransigence of exuberant interruption of warped logics of pataphysical coarse arenas for submerged vapid Yellow Belly Pie Slingers aimed at 7/11.
Broadside bruisers aim at fracked 80s heyday like a Hey Bulldog reminiscence on a quaint suburban joke of alien freebooters in Franc Swiss gloss swanky on the spot of frapplanks endless in retired liturgy of surpassed peace amicable to truces among the pragmatica of checkerboard pastries willful in array backing sentinels from rearguard hindsight to flank the motatory missiles of target from ransom built like fortress of immutable graves lost to the celerity of the outpaced spectral wonder of teenage flights and hegiras into recessive parsecs enamored by a stage-fright of recocted astral wonders plasma to the ears of a strange foreign abode hospitable to most heaved alacrity sidewinding into effigy and the crumples of used demise recycled twice by intrinsic spirituel flocks of engulfed eagles spooning the pristine littoral waters of precision in nexility
Stayin’ Alive cackles resound in the hallowed furrows of a neat daydream in a scattershot imagination screaming to make myths sticky pigment rather than imbroglios of intaglio filibustering cohesive firm firmaments flexing with windfall at princely surprises cobbled from chocolate-box chariots of brisk elation shoveled by the conglomerate of prim-looking star-crossed unbuttoned snoozes with glamour in the corsair sojourn beyond the space emergent from stardust tinsel and glowered vindication of self-engineered huffs of vulpine vainglory touted as preeminent above dodgy 70s swerve in the vibrant kantikoys of covert tenure and flickers of swandamo glitterati borne of triumphant dimples on immaculate refraction.
Yet lingering on the precipice of aboriginal unity in disjointed sejungible frames of vernal restive residence decaying with anthill colonies of demarche the cadence lost to gyrovague trinkets balks from corridors of Pacific  Avenue peace that is the cardinal to the priests feasting on militias of rentgourge evicted from their own leash of lease ruffled in the plumage of horizontal margins folded into origami zenkidu gullible on Raptor estrangement chained to the rhythms of parsed sparse rumbles of the rhombos without a complexion intended for sparkled starlets doomed to regular tides in swollen tsunamis of soft-spoken surrealism the providence of aimed dreams of drastic marvels beloved to impregnate a verdant cadence latent by faltered seamstress elopes flickering for caress in the duress of finesse.
The quaint drawl of scrabbled runes of rumbled rumination streaks like a quivered acerbic winsome peacock jagged in the parlance of henpecked peak beyond the reach of the highest teacher that ever had the privilege of tutelaries spawned born to teach in Steppenwolf rhythms of rugged heavy metal impeachment yet ripe enough to preach. The last juggernaut is vile bereaved of yets to become the blemish on risky flambeaus overrun by crackles fuzzy in written retch for sudden bursts of volcanic speech.
In the quagmires of serrated heavy leaps I stroke the frazzle as the choir reaps the grim proclamation gilded by sentinels of majestic Challenger Deep burrowing tunnels of coltish ploy dilettante to all his curated adoration that toys with the children of majestic modesty ever so fractious as to balk at the priggish calumny of retinues of the tired coy rampant in emasculated spayed days of stranglehold filigree geometry bent on noisome bleats prone to annoy
So I leapfrog the redundant hackencrude fawn of gripping spectacles of alpenglow summits on acid at dawn foaming with betrothed pumice on borrowed past from potentiated future belonging once to a man yet always bred to prefer fairer damsels sprinkled with a hint of germane Soy saucy to the Bossy promenade to an Islander born and bred.
Guilt like Gravity gilded into spacious trailblazed glory sent seminal and said loudly bowdlerized the pasture of hidden thickets in sparse backwater chavish remanded by fisticuffs of elapse travail in artistry fundamental to rhapsody in distant milky affection jangling high plaudits of auditoriums of the delicate audit bulldozing fraudsters colored by defected records set ablaze in seminal disco becoming cordial homes for shaken residue blushing in crude crass mass the inertia of the classy beyond recognition without flashbang clashes of cultural class glimmering to faltered waterdrips of palatial mischief in correct lens for froward recalcitrance of jittery stash hidden in dacoitage by the police that knelt on incinerated livelihood predicated on chauvinist cash for departed untouchable caste of radical haste too blinkered for internet barnstorms limited only to lurid copy-and-paste regimented for revolution damaged by the loneliest orchestra of refineries of an alien taste.
We crack skulls against ossified hulls riveted weakly to iceberg submarine bulge battled in wars past always to suppress greater travesty yet divulged that Barbarosa was an insider coup expunged by remonstrance against finicky postulate brayed from deranged heirs to a disease of relish quartered by blue danger dancing with shadowed emancipation librettos finkly in tripwire terms of routed inefficacy killjoy to seanced second guess prisms of rootless flimsy accusation wagered by pathetic overstatement in hypenstance trimmed by the crimson paint of a glowering silk woven from dramaturgy belittled by grasp if not by locomotive passerby pause wicked by subversion inclined not to dismay by oriented by nefarious rage of flagrant hapless scrimshanks in prowess sued by process and refined by progress never erased by a five-second glower by the sentinels of parlance intrepid by desiccation to supervised superstition bemused by abundant gray twists of turnverein pillory.

The Underground Man

“By the way, what does a decent chap talk about with  greatest possible pleasure?
Answer: about himself.”

Note one: On the Circus.

Lies are cars, I tell you, pummeling through the freeways of smiling faces and charmed ears.
Spitting smoke in my eyes. Despite this clear fact, honesty is *****.
I turn on the TV, I choke on the noxious laughing gases of the permanently paradoxical world.
******* smells of roses. We’re wooed by the scent of scandalous roses.
******* is a beautiful bouquet beating on so many dead horses. A million bouquet armed gadflies
Stinging the horse. Grating her with their stems and thorns.
Our lips contracts as sphincters in a never dead language, a romance language

L’amour du merde.

The air smells of rosebuds and vanilla candles, and I break into ulcers.

They sing the sugar songs. Muddled by the sound of a flock, imitating a fog-horn blaring in the mist of song. Speaking openly is **** and the **** clinch tightly to keep it in.
But we dance with bouquets reeking of peppermint, gumdrops and bon bons, smiling with courtesy, modernizing a Victorian cordiality
A half-made smile. Fetal. Sloppily pasted. Circus clown faces hysterically melting under the intensity of the honest moment.
It is truth: Half of the single human life is spent taking part in the most pornographic reality we can conceive, while the other half is a mask pretending we don’t grab the ***.

Note Two: We are an aftertaste.

Some days I feel ugly to the world. I justify these sensations by the believing the world to be ugly to me in return. So the world and I glare at one another in a staring contest between two ugly wounds. We’re really quite eager to bark the last word in a garbled string of language.

BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!!

Going on in the nights where my eyes are wracked by the tired pins and needles of insomnia.
My heart rate jumps to the skipping rope turned by anxiety and exertion.
Muscles are stretched thin and I’m no more fluid and wanted than old Play-Doh left to cringe in the sun.

Then the red glow of alarm clocks shriek at me to lie in sleep.

I’m a hammer split against a wall stored in a shanty hovel pooling of novels and slanders hissed through grit teeth and clenched jaws wading through this growing cesspool where I hiss and hiss as a coiled snake residing in these hidden underground passages.

I will be vile because the world is vile. And I will be beautiful for the world is beautiful. Humanity is the manticore. A Monster consisting of a million realities. A colour palette of melting hues and every person wants to say we’re pink, red, or green. We’re a mysterious aftertaste, left lingering in the back of nature’s tongue. A platypus walking on two legs. A monster with eyes leaking ****, with irises more alluring than Shakespearean Sonnets. An Angel with a lyre belting out the best of Bob Dylan. A mother leaving her newborn to rot in a dumpster.
And a doctor saying he ain’t gonna make it. Mama’***** the bottle cuz’ daddy’s comin home and daddy’s hittin’ mommy because look at what she made him do.

Humanity is a manticore. He gnashes her teeth at coiled snakes. He wants to swallow its eggs.
A bank machine to wallets, and creditors to pockets.
She’s crude and cold. He has eyes of atomic flashes, roar that wails an echoing wail of lives spent sighing behind a monitor. Tragedies piling into transcendence, gripping onto God with heads packed into ovens and daughter swallowing one pill too many.
Of wedding bells and birthday parties and strawberry shortcake and the hope we’ll just get together and feel all right. He has an underbelly glistening of ivory white, and she’s brimming with dreams filling with the hope of seeing Xanadu. A belly of ecstasy and climaxes of the most ruthless sort to glisten to the light of ****** that embers the night towards the ecstatic scent of chemical mornings.


The gravedigger.
I am the world’s gravedigger
Burying the world
In the needless disgust
Of a muscular mind, armed with an atrophied hand.

I rise to face the fanfare

forged from the instruments of those who watched conquest warfare and famine ride Dictating the rites of god flaunting the colors of their father’s land in scarlet night and burning white crushed in the talons of an eagle I from those who stood in the face of conquest for one moment the beauty of constellations and the strength of iron stood in unity

I stand apart the mountain of those who conceded in the presence of the silken pale rider and his entreating caress

My father watched as his own draped lifelessly suspended like a cruel marionette

I who stood at his feet as he was ushered into the fire home now he keeps a widow company within a ceramic cylinder

I listened intently to the failings of the present the fallen are dwarfed by the towers of man eyes of sullen milk yearning for the fire and brimstone of the yester year to course through cracked and long soured veins

I rise to face the fanfare

here I will stand unwavering in the midst of the roads lit aflame with the bodies of the crucified the persecuted the banished the punished the misfortunate the proud the many the weak the blind the meek the legends the infamous the ill-fated the youth the experiences the living and the undead

here in the palms of giants I will face the accuser as he gnashes upon the bodies of the traitorous there in the center of the unholy realm of ice and tundra he will demand of me to fall upon my knees

there I will resound:

No

My shadow is long.
It is measured by years
And drunk on my fears.

I raise trembling my hand
Watching my shadow stand
Stretching longer and longer,
Than my body.
(My shadow is stronger)
Than my body.

It severs from me
And gnashes its teeth.

My shadow's smile,
Stretches the mile,
On and on

Cause my shadow is long.

Crack!
Into the black, shimmering pan
Given life by gas
The father fries feverishly

The white cooks first
Pleasing, pure
From a distance
If only we could live so dangerously
The golden hue is what he seeks
The safety of the coveted yolk

The man waits and works
Anxiously, in the grease
His creation beaten, toughened
Chasing gold
Until the white is no more
The pan is encrusted, no longer shimmering
His work is done

He calls to his child,
"Look what I have created for you! Someday I will teach you!"
His son looks on disinterested
He's too young to understand

Yet, the boy is ravenous
He will one day learn this ritual
For now he engulfs his father's work
He gnashes, nearly choking
Eventually it trickles down
Around his throat, and soon around his son's
Where the yolk was always meant to be

...Crack

Earthquakes due to a dropped feather
cause angels to fly underground
and demons to flood the skies.
Blood drips upward from crying eyes
while deep gnashes pour tears into the
dampening air.
Twisted words are humble as pie
but nice words are salt to the earth as
the grass cuts my skin.
Arctic prisons melt the sun with
cooling hate while we toy with the
lives of millions.

We never existed.

Mushroom people sitting around
all day, but who would believe you
when you've had too much sugar.
Let your mother pray for your death
as father prepares the swords and
pushes hilt deep past existence.
Apocalypse seems so futile now
as we already planned our demise.
We breathe, we live, we go.

We never existed.

We hide past our views on other
and we make broad assumptions
that were are not perfect.
Say it once, say it twice for
the guardian of Styx takes
all with the toll of time.
Sadness be it a disease or
an undying feeling for all
to bear in every way possible.

We never existed.

Be it a means to a life of
darkness or a life of light
Everything comes with a price
upon its own record.
Brace the darkness and brace
life giving force that compels
and attracts souls to unison.
Give up now or bear with
the truth of all things while
we wait and cry the night.

We never existed through
our own eyes, therefore
why should we start now?

Because. We. Never. Existed.

© 2004

The beast is hungry
With an unrelenting appetite
Consuming without satisfaction
This glutenous swine gnashes and gnaws
Leaves no morsels
Only memories
Snatching the very youth from your face
And the minds from those who gave you yours
Extruding your very essence whilst you slumber
Feeds on good times
And takes exquisite pleasure
In dragging out moments of suffering
Yet this beast is desired by all
Pursued without hesitation
Those with wealth and power may never obtain
Those who need it never posses
Those who posses may not use

And in the end, leaves you, alone in a void
Nothing but a fleeting thought
In those who are still being devoured alive

-R

Intentions lay shattered and scattered about
Now remnants of what could not be
The veil rent asunder, revealing all doubt
And the face we tried hard not to see
The beautiful thistle amidst scores of thorns
Still ****** us, and begs us to bleed
Just as the dreams that we still so adore
Sometimes sprout from the darkest of seeds
When even hope falters, and faith seems a lie
When demons rejoice, and angels doth cry
And every step draws the conclusion much further away
Every tear that resides behind eyes
Far too weary to open upon their demise
Will still succumb to the fall despite their dismay
The death of mortality’s endless charade
Lingers on as the lifeless continue to fade
Far beneath the parading of ghosts who continue to try
The cries of the broken a sweet serenade
Such an effortless potion that swiftly invades
The hearts of those who still refuse to die

The phantom progression of wanting the need
Still continues to tear at the soul
Ignoring the loss and the pain as it feeds
Upon every ounce of control
As the broken rise up from the fathomless ashes
Still screaming, and daring to dream
Holding to hope as it wails and it gnashes
Knowing nothing is all that it seems
While our time slips away with each grain through the glass
Our tears come and go, as the dew on the grass
And the frost of our frozen emotions still flees with the sun
We fall, and we rise, sprouting forth from the seeds
Of our failures and losses, and sweetly we bleed
Our journey through dark disenchantment now scarcely begun
Our every dream has been nearer than far
But none of us know just how close that we are
Until we dare to take just one step more
This thicket of briers now slowing us down
But protects the great beauty of what may be found
To be the very thing worth dying for

My voice.
Their target.
Yet they forget the rain on our face a
clear trace of gashes in our hearts.
After years in the battle for unity.
Why?

Dear sacred trinity,
hear our painful chant.
Grant us the will,
to feed us with the spiritual skill,
of symmetrical strength.
Amen.

For the lengths of time we
had to climb the racist rubbles.
Our bubbles of brothers and sisters are
popped by the thunders and twisters,
of a killer ****.

And yet,
the 2020 air,
fails to purify a
supremacists disgust.
Of my melanin.

That will never rust.
At their demand.

Do you know why?

Because we are polished with the oils of
justice and the paint of peace.
The crease of our angular frown,
will birth a crown of power,
that will shower the genes of generations to come.

Our paralysed pain,
will be forever buried into the gnashes of
the earth’s core.


Hands embraced.
Eyes aglow with grace.
For together in tongues we say,

We are black.
Amen.

Justine louisy

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