vast vivid wilderness
analyze politicians mind
hypocrites world dies in lies
moral devolution,hiding in white
lose of mind,gravity inside
zero nothing, sometime
1 is a separate thing
a velvet plaything
breathing in the fumes
lobotomized muse

trying to do what is right
don't forget, never forget
to start walking in the grey
memories they slowly fade
from this harsh reality
exist inside, resist tide
inside you'll see it die
justify your wicked mind

the eyes torture tantalize
3 rings, out in time
bombarding mind
find it not linear time
time line separate thing
velvet plaything
treated like lobotomized dogs
vast vivid life of pain
wires forced into my brain

trying to do what is right
don't forget, never forget
to start walking in the grey
memories they slowly fade
from this harsh reality
exist inside, resist tide
inside you'll see it die
justify your wicked mind

II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.

Medication time wheezed nurse ratchet
Her yellowed teeth as sharp as a hatchet
Medication time medication time
She shouts once more
Leaving me sickly chilled to my core
Medication time medication time
she hisses in my ear
Will I ever get better or is it only my fear?
Medication time medication time
she picks up in pace
If the medicines working why do I feel I'm being erased?
Medication time medication time
It comes to an end
I've been lobotomized and left for dead

punishment, not fit

for a velvet plaything

treated like lobotomized dogs

vast vivid wilderness of pain

will you ever see through the fog


the wretchedness I adore

in my head, eternal hell

taken for granted our prizes are mounted

the hypocrisy we deplore


punishment not fit for a mangled heart

blisters these hands twitch

to be found, all is lost to start

feel the nervous itch

i am the lyrical terrorist,
     stalking virtual grasslands
     technology fueled efficient
     #winning#unabombereatyourheartout

     IDK how 2 roboto-cize
     spiritual growth.
     YET
     IDGAF bout your FB status
     if you dont respond to mine.
     First.
     #circumcumnavigate

     the sheep are now wolves
     (lobotomized)
     preying on our weaknesses

    BRING ME ANOTHER POWER STRIP!

     See?
     so much 2 say...
     Why?

                        c
               i                   g
           r     the globe      n
               c                   i
                         l

     Word.

lobotomized, lost soul.
torn across fields of ****** death
death breaks,
feelings left wounded and paralyzed
now there is no vision in these eyes
life's germ invades healthy brain
and  done with no refrain
moment thrown into society
degradation moral decay,
generate the lies you create.
truth is lost its to late,
forever stuck forever stuck
we all decay
emotional derogation, and mental erosion

I feel very fake when I'm spilling my guts
Sometimes i feel that I am going nuts
The challenge of holding on to my soul
Maybe tougher than I ever thought
Refusing conformity and rebelling on the norms
Has been my sole purpose in my years of living
Because being different in a country like mine
equates to being mentally insane
So sick of being prejudiced and scrutinized
I feel like a shadow sometimes, invisible
So translucent and immune to people's judgment
Newbies will suffer in this world
They're better off in the womb

If I could hold the words you spoke,
I'd keep them in my palms
and nobody would ever see those creases again.

oh
hello
there
here
I
am
nothing
but
a
man
not
myself
i
have
changed
for
the
interlinking
gears
of
communication
pried
open
like
a
pumpkin
altruist
the
cross
to
establish
modern
life
you
have
it,
my
brain
will
you
take
my
heart
i
will
not
move
for
you
grab
me
motionless
objective
goodb­ye
now

The Universe is compelled to Upgrade!
Stars, Nebula, even Black Holes must be Improved!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Sis Boom Bah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Sis Boom Bah!

It is risen! It is risen! It is Risen!

Most marvelous, miraculous divine device!

Forget turning water into wine... Lame!
Forget Muhammed moving that mountain... Lame!
Let Lazarus flop back into the tomb... Lame!

This is Miracle as it was meant to be!

Oh grand glorious God of International Capitalism!

The triumphant product of American Genius manifest
in the work of many skilled primates' foreign hands.

Truly an event of Startling Global Significance!

And you have stood like a lemming on methamphetamine
many long hours in the rain to be possessed by its majesty
and now it is yours, yours, yours, yours alone
for only $649 dollars plus a few hundred monthly.

Let all the bells be rung! Let high Hosannas be sung!

A phone so smart it was beta tested on the lobotomized
and made them look like slightly scarred Steven Hawings!

The apps that are available will explode your existence!

They can provide *******, wipe your ***, ******* you.
Yes! Imagine Siri willingly kneeling between your legs!

Oh, but what to do about that first important call or text?
It must be equal in loftiness to this Digital Masterpiece!

Perhaps command it to call Obama and implore him to gain weight,
or Alexander Putin to tell him a Polar Bear needs wrestling,
or perhaps God to tell him he is no longer necessary.

No, all of these are far too paltry for that first message.

Instead, tell Siri to search for the nearest Lunatic Asylum
and book as many cells as possible for self-obsessed consumers.

That way they can text and call in medically supervised bliss,
undisturbed until Apple provides them with the next Transfiguration.

It will probably only be six months from now... **Suckers.

Furniture moves around inside of me
My brain is the roof
My heart is the floor
Everything else is a revolving door
To live in suburbia you must be lobotomized
You must be cut up
Down to size
Realities are bleeding through
I’m sure they’ll love a train wreck
So goodbye to the oblong
Death for two
Hello to the sharp game of chance
Losing my mind is a sweet romance
I’ve gathered my graffiti tools
Hyperfocused on the rules
Now it’s time
To claim my birthright
To transform into the hunter
To perform like a good boy should
Here comes the Flow

I built these walls to protect myself.
Encase myself in steel to keep intruders out.
I ripped my heart out, pickled it and put it on a shelf.
Zipped my mouth and lobotomized myself to exsponge doubt.

I encase my house in a steel cage, bottle up my sadness, fury, rage.
My room sealed shut, locked with a deadbolt.
Strapped into my bed just me and my colt.
45 that is hallucinating and yet peacefully bliss.
A knock on the door.... What the **** is this.

Who's is this knocking on my door. I sealed myself in this world, never see anyone, anymore.
I peek through the window, can't believe my eyes.
In the wall lies a huges gaping hole, dynamite explosion marks her introduction.
Chainsawed bars from where the sparks flew, instantly I knew it was her kiss that broke through.
Her hug was the key that opened the door to me.
Smiling at me is what set me free.

Hopeless I stare, whowhatwhenwhere?!
Feelings arise deep from in there.
She found the jar, brought it to me empty.
Smug devilish smile, for some reason began to tempt me.
I ask "What did you do with what defined me"
She replied "Inplace of mine is where it shall be".
And we traded, easily I see, I'm still pondering how in the hell she got the key.
Key to my heart what leads to me, who are you? How can this be.

She: I am your desire whoever you wish me to be.
Me: you are perfect as you are, as long as you stay with me. I have no mind to think with so nothing can ruin us.
And in an instant she pulled it from thin air, without a care.
She: use this to please and entertain me for you are great, a caged king to be. You have been hurt by others this I can see.
But I hold the key, I belong to you, and you belong to me.

And with that she set me free, the ******* that I have set to be. Something to encage and enslave me. To such a low point and hoplessness for which light you cannot see. I am now whole and happy as can be.

The country.
A little girl, forced to the ground by police twice her size. What was she doing wrong? What was the honest reason for it? Why did they see her, out of the entire crowd, as a threat severe enough to be rough-housed?
A little boy, playing with his toy pop-gun, like we all have, but the police claim to have feared for their lives as they drive past him. They turn around, in their car, get out and open fire. What was it that made this little boy look like a threat? Did they honestly believe that a child would chill in his own yard, fully exposed, just aiming a random weapon at random people?
A chubby man, ever hungry of tasteful things, has brought about a new hunger for the rest of the minority world. How can you honestly say you feared for your life, mister officer? He said he couldn’t breathe on several occasions as you strained the life out of him in front of multiple witnesses.
A poor man, looked homeless, running from the police. No weapon, no fight, just natural fear of someone who’s afraid of the trouble that’s been brought them. They shot him down in broad daylight and got upset at those who shouted their disapproval of the actions.
A church for the community, welcoming all with open arms. No security checks, no guards or peacekeeping officers. Just a church who wanted to praise the lord in whatever way they could. A homicidal maniac came through their doors, sat in a bit before opening fire with automatic weapons. How can you call yourselves warriors of god if when your own life’s at stake you beg and plead through five reloads instead of taking the actions necessary to neutralize the threat? Many died that day in carnage, and their families weep with te rest of the world wishing them a rest in peace. Right after the event, you want to forgive the killer? You mean that the blood splayed by your kin means nothing to you? The death of men women and of all ages means nothing to you?
Don’t feed me that “God wants peace” Line anymore, I’m tired of it. He gave you hands to put together in prayer, yes, but he gave you fists for protection. He gave you a voice to shout in his name, but it’s also a mouth for raising the battle cries of a raging spirit waging war.
You see it only as the “Peaceful” Light, I see it much deeper at my age.  People wished this man a speedy sentence to the nearest clinic to clear his head. Take it off, I say, for if this sort of insanity causes ****** then he needs to be lobotomized.
The list of events is endless, literally, I merely touched the surface in an attempt to shed a light on what it is.
Some say it’s not genocide, some say it’s mere coincidence, no my brotha, no my sista, running into an old friend is coincidence, finding a penny on the sidewalk is coincidence. This is by design, whose, I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there’s no design in affect.
I have a solution for these plans though, it’s a hard call, but a solution that’s inevitable.
Separation.
Re-build your own communities, my people, and stop ******* it out. Stop spending so much money at the neighborhood walmart and grow your own **** food. Stop living off of welfare and make something out of yourself other than a tight pants street-walker imitation.
Pedal money back into the community instead of once it hits your hand you spend it at fancy stores knowing that you live in the housing projects, knowing that the car you drive isn’t yours and isn’t paid for. Become the gods and goddesses that you are truly meant to be and revive the ancestral Kings inside of you and revive your communities.
The simplest way to end hate is to get away from it, and once we get our own back, we should do just that.
-the justice has spoken

must recognize our Form
in the mirror,
see our Face, and make our reflection
as we kiss it, though it regularly sickens
Us.

I

We are still Us, though
that probably means little if it ever did;

We have been amended beyond recognition
from centuries of lobbing
off limbs, appendages, stitching clauses
like bandages then forgetting about them
if we ever shower,
disfiguring the pale torso of our Body
politic, naked and middling before posterity
grotesque genitalia dangling
hopelessly, and useless
between marble columns
unable to unite in congress assembled
erasing pluribus unum;

We're our Legs, buckling under obscene weight
now cloture’s invoked, the question ordered
on history with yays and nays,
discourse long reduced to the nuances
of blusterfuck;

We're our Buttocks, passing gas
bills, denying a snowball’s chance of
melting in frozen hell or on house floor,
and our Brain, lobotomized
better half yearning “Yes, we Can…
…ada” beckoning the coasts, blue dots
on blue dot ever browning;

We're our Fists, clenching gavels
while advising Mother Earth to **** up
because even without her consent,
reality’s adjourned;

II

We're our Skin—yes, our Skin—, thin-
ly veiling contempt insufficiently concealed
by layers of spray tan and unmarred
by blood sweat tears of our foremothers
and our Brow, not sweating more perfect
when it's so easy to turn and follow storybook greatness,
when our Fingers, callused from tweeting
Little Bits of *****,
which though once again retitled
and re-released, remains a classic,
completely unrevised;

We're our Ears, nostalgic for the crack of doom
and we're our Tiny Hands, unable to help themselves
from popping a Tic-Tac and grabbing
onto those titillating, dusty buttons
on the hydrogen jukebox;

We're our Eyes, heavy
as a defeated queen
with makeup running, blessing us
all for this operant foray into madness,
ever observing how our Arms, which
(torches now extinguished)
flail in confusion amid incalculable darkness
still hoist our pitchforks low and
our Tongue still grievously petitions
for more deplorable words amid
hallucinations of victimhood;

We're our *****, *******
on progress, except
which—failing to rise to the occasion—
nonetheless manages
to flop over and strike once more: a dis-
chord in common defense of
fragile white male privilege
always showing, never growing,
general welfare and tranquility flushed down
the toiletbowl of history
hoping those old turds never
resurface, still ignoring the stench of injustice
and the chipping of gilded porcelain;

We’re our Lips–which neither Broadway hits nor
newspaper clips nor high minded pleas alarmed,
and with Dr. Franklin’s warning notwithstanding–
We are our Lips on treacherous steps which will be
all executive power herein vesting;

III

We're our Palms, grasping rope amid air
saturated in deathly vespers, which tugs
down-up toward unearned heavens;

We’re our *****, pretending to be
our Mouths which chide & otherize, while
our Shins expose their cuts to ****,
bullet-holes welcoming the swift infections
in what dank sewage now pours from open
Overton windows, broken along with
any pretense of civility; ultimately,
the only thing we could shatter;

We’re our Holes, shamefully enjoying
the prodding and poking caresses
of anarchy, be-
moaning un-
Equal Protection law & order bestows,
depriving life, liberty, property
when our Hearts, weary of
the long hard due process, supremely
malign centuries’ holdings;

We’re our Immunity, sovereign it be
fighting all insults foreign and domestic
and our Voices rising in lamentation
for what we’ve lost and what we’ve barely kept;

We’re even our Hair, unkempt, distracting us
from enduring corruption of our Blood;

We’re our *****, too. No, never mind.
We never had any. But She did,
and class despite the strength
of glass;

IV

We’re all that still, and our Souls'
politic too, fractured much asking
what Un-
ited States we’re in;

Spinning sights and broken tongue,
Buzzing mind and punctured lung,
Blotted ink and battered word,
Confusion nearly all absurd,
Incomprehensible speech,
Brain draining leech,
Lost in each second I stand,
Breaking the land,
Earth-shattering sounds on repeat,
Static shock in the feet,
Losing all my stability,
No more time feeling free,
The gear don't grind the way they once did,
The thoughts and the pain of which I cannot rid--
Myself of inside,
The rippling has died,
I use the same rhymes,
The same sounds are my crimes,
I can't find anything fresh,
The old and the new just mesh,
An endless war in cycle,
The past holds on as a barnacle,
Dead and decrypt--
Yet a living enigma the bites,
These are just not winnable fights,
I hear the tunes and raps each day,
The same beat comes back to stay,
I ramble and shoot the time away,
The loss of cognitive play,
Running myself deeper in dirt,
The spotless stains on my shirt,
Coating all spots with sugar sweet,
Hiding the blatant signs of defeat,
No holding back this noise anymore,
The bide developing more in store,
Inside it all begins to roar,
More and more until it hits the floor,
Inspirational deficiency sets in--
The internal daemons begin to grin,
Power beyond uproars a din,
Edging closer to the ending fin,
Rockstars crash and singers scream,
Sun will shine and moon will gleam,
The spectrum of emotion--
The pyramid of devotion--
The dictator of feeling--
The reaper of stealing--
Glass cracks to shatter//
Rings clink to clatter//
Cars crash to crumble,
Players pray to fumble,
Runners fly to fall,
Underdogs lose it all,
Dark horses seem to stay in last,
Dreamers hold close to the past,
Daredevils cheat the very laws--
That haunts us all within out flaws,
We can't keep on the cleared path,
Hidden roads hold heavy wrath,
Silent soldiers protect the shy,
Outspokens embrace the lie,
The sky is green a color so few--
Can see that grass is blue,
Like tears of the ghosts,
The lost on the posts,
The graffiti is art on the street,
A cunning feat,
The masterpiece of unknown,
Now to all optics shown,
We hide in sheep skin,
All in the lost and found bin,
The wolves are shot down,
The cities are made from town,
Built dreams on land of soils,
Gleaning earth of all spoils,
Vampiring dry the life of other one,
Conquering totals sole for fun,
Parasitic beasts roaming free,
Nothing here that I can see,
All is lost beyond the creeds,
Damaged souls pray to their beads,
Pleading to the heaven power,
Silent gods chose hell to shower,
Nothing free in all my vision,
Temporal lobe incision--
Lobotomized and clueless drone,
Rusted metal on broken bone,
WORDS WORDS WORDS//
Unbreakable wooden boards,
The words are inundating my life,
Sparking repetition and strife,
The double edged blade of a knife,
Out forth the bleeding is rife,
There's nothing left to say//
More will come another day...

Cursing like they diamond but
they don't even cut glass..
   Holding wraps of cash, but the top and
bottom be 50's but the rest is the monopoly
that they can't even pay...


They are burning rubber on the expense,
  but they rented, they dent...  
          Paying back on the record company.
You sold 50 thousand but you owe
                                                   a hundred grand.

They ain't going to shoot out you knee caps,
         there just going to gang-**** your voice..
Thinking you original, swallow that pride,
you one of there cash cows,  
           they milking you, can you say Moo!!!
******* around making the milk sour.

They'll just pressure bolt you
lobotomized, on the industry you either overdose,
             or working at KFC..  

Think you had grills now sold off to pay
the rent, the only thing you can afford is
a tin foil grill and you only cooking,
                                                 is burgers...

"Hi sir can I take your order,

They sell **** to poor people.
But its OK.
They are poor too.
I love that fiction book section.
I feel like I'm getting one over on them.
Hemingway,$1. Saroyan, $1,The Bronte girls,$1,D.H., $1, Sartre,$3, Camus...25¢...
I walk to the counter
"Your total is...$10."
They feel like they're getting one over on me.
Anyways...
(****...I've been drinking. It makes everything seem
poetic.)
I'm standing in the fiction section.
It's next to the women's bathroom
And it reeks like demon's ****.
I stand staring
Lobotomized.
So many titles
So much ****.
But... you never know...
(****... I was just thinking about the time I made a *** tape at 15...)
I found some more
Hem, Voltaire, Joyce .
I was having an
Ok
Day.
Then I smelled it.
Lavender on fire
In a torched
Green-black forest.
I looked over.
A beautiful blonde
Knelt down
Searching the very bottom row
Of the fiction section.
Christ...
May I combust
Now
And never see another
Sight.
She stood up
And stepped closer to me
Our shoulders touched.
"Sorry" she smiled
Green eyes.
I never notice eyes.
Green eyes.
"That's alright."
...*****...
She stood right next to me
Maybe, 10 minutes.
Say something
You lonely miserable *******...
All that reading you've done
She is browsing at fiction...
Say something, ******!...
Then her friends walked over
"Hey,(sunburntlavendardrippinginnapalm) you ready to go?"
"Hold up..." She exhaled
Say something
You drunkard lonely *******.
She stood up.
Looked at me.
Then left.
Green eyes.
I exhaled
Looked at the bottom shelf.
SHE, was there again...
Carson McCullers.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter
With her
"You'll never finish me, Ray." Smirk.
I smirked back.
Took her up to the counter...
$3.

I made a
vision board
in treatment
the other day.
I had to
hunt for a
picture of
Mom and Dad.

Where the ****
did the time go?
They have been gone
for over 30 years now.

The hour glass
broke,
and the sand
blew and blended
me in with the
storms of life.
I tried to
drink
all the pain away;
to become a
lobotomized shell.
It didn't work.
The poet in me
felt everything.

I have four
kids that my
parents never got
to meet.
Sometimes I see
Mom and Dad
in my son's and
daughter's eyes.
Two have blue
like Dad.
And two have brown
like Mom and me.
They are
intelligent
sensitive
and caring.

When I was
little, I thought
my parents would
live forever.
On my vision
board,
I become a
better father.

My heart's been recycled
My heart's been put in the trash
My heart's been used and abused
My heart's been traded for cash

My veins have been poked and pricked
My veins are green and blue
My veins form a weird omen shape
Like a death-eater's tattoo

I used to have quick reflex
Could catch flying objects
Now all I can do is text
Under technology's hex

I used to be normal
Till someone took a picture
Now defined by the mystery down under
Defined by a strange tincture

My skin has been burned and scarred
By accidents, aging and stress
My skin covers up my skeleton
But it crawls every time I get undressed

My brain has something wrong with it
My brain is the cura and the curse
My brain's been scanned, fried, almost lobotomized
My right-brain is the drunk co-pilot, my left brain's in my purse

I used to be wild and vain
Now I'm sensitive and insane
In this trade-off what remains?
Flesh wounds for angels' slain

Pure exhaustion
Coupled with mental anguish
Living in a haze day to day
Comprehension of routine
Has walked right out the door
Sparks of consciousness
Becoming far and few lately
Morning, night, day bleed into one
A pulsating maggot of time & space
Sense of self becomes abstract
An arbitrary composition of pieces
Rotting flesh randomly arranged
To create a mindless marionette
Performing through a dull screenplay
On this decaying stage of life
Waiting for a curtain call
A grandiose standing ovation
From fellow lobotomized puppets
Who will weep at this tragedy
And laugh at the irony
Simply because it's all part of the act
The paradox of universe
Acted out daily on a grand scale
Billions of actors with no director
Each individual at center stage
Giving the performance of a lifetime
A sad endeavor of recognition
Dramatics as schematic
Systematic
Death.

to free the lobotomized
masses of the world
i must free the
lobotomized me

Just in case you
couldn't
guess, it's not a
a fair fight
or a level
playing field.

It's you with
boxing gloves
and them with
machine guns.

It's Van Gogh
throwing his paintings
out the window
to stop the hecklers.

It's Janis falling
down
the stairs, lonely
and
broken
looking for love.

It's Morrison seeing
the game for
what it was,
wanting to disappear
in France and
write poetry,
then dying in a
bathtub with a
witch in the wings.

It's morphine dreams
and thorazine days.
It's the tiger
declawed and lobotomized
at the zoo.

It's the lobster
cursed with
precious meat.

It's the statue of liberty,
burning her bra
and impaling
working class men with
her stiletto heels.

It's Gogol
dying after a
prolonged fast,
because a charlatan
told him
it was evil.

It's the elephant
domesticated by
the cage, but
still dreaming of
the Serengeti.

It's the dolphin in
a Hollywood
swimming pool,
a shark in your
coffee cup;
it's the criminality
of releasing the insane
from their cages to
wander the streets of
Santa Barbara.

It's pathetic and putrid,
a setup up;
the perfect tragedy;
a crime that goes beyond
denunciation.

It's what they will continue
to do to
you and me
until someone or something
intervenes.

Clean and serene or institutionally lobotomized
society reacts to the raging dope fiend, summarized
by med lines and meetings and half-hearted greetings.
They say he was convulsing and blue,
yet still if they only had a clue,
how it feels to be him when he is
clean
serene.
Experiments in convalescence
yet I am more restless
than an entire generation.
If the 20's were so roaring
and the 50's were so beat,
I can only be as restless, selfish
as this age entitles me to be.
Born into this, because of this,
old man I hear you echo from an angry bottled fist.
Raging with a deep death wish ever chasing his bliss,
he doesn't have much time left, just give him a kiss.
You yell "you are not Burroughs no comparison with Cobain,"
yet if I go off chasing them through the mist
who can you really blame?
Let the epithet boldly blaze
   Forever Young
   Born. ******. Died.
Wouldn't that be such a shame.

to free the lobotomized
masses of the world
i must free the
lobotomized me

We live in a house
without ghosts or
previous tenants.
No one has died
or sold their soul
here,

and no one has done
unspeakable things
behind closed doors
here.

No one has endured
flaming words,
burning skin,
kicks and shoves
or broken bones
here.

There are no
spun dust dead cells
come alive as
night prowl swirlings
here,

and no manifestations
of such.

No leftover lives
here,
nothing left behind
here.

only peace
and quiet
here.

But not back
there
when I lived with her
before I lived
here
with you.

Back
there
she said I went crazy
when the neighbors asked
why I slept on the porch
there.

It would have been crazier
had I slept inside the house
there.

What happened
there
was worse than
the worst thing imaginable.
I would forever be changed
by what happened
there.

She let evil enter
there
from across the globe when
mother Russia sent it in
the suitcase of a boy.


When I met you
I knew
my porch sleeping days
were over,
whether
here
or
there,
quite frankly anywhere.

Our first house
was 50 years old
yet we were only
the second owners.

Family must have mattered
there.

The ghost was different
there,

not frightening, not angry,
more nostalgic,
he used to sit out
there
on the porch
in my chair at night,
sit
there
looking sad,
like he missed the place.

He didn’t mind us being
there
and I never felt threatened
there.

On many occasions
he knew that I knew
he was
there,
but he wouldn’t engage.
I felt sorry for him,
sitting out
there
all alone.

For a short while
we lived in a house
north of town.
We lived
there
before we lived
here.

The ghosts
there
were more like what
you’d expect from ghosts.

First it was
the hogs in the attic
followed by
the children in the night,
it wasn’t unsafe
it just didn’t feel right
there.

Someone wasn’t happy
there,

so we left
there
and came
here
and built this house of love.

Now we live where
there
are no ghosts,
at least not in the house.

Instead
the history in my head
is what haunts me.

To move it out,
to delete it
would mean to be dead
or maybe lobotomized,
so no thank you
I think I’ll learn to live with
these
ghosts.

These
that aren’t
there,
or
here,

they still are.

My father is 85 and tells me
that they prey on your weakness
when you get older.
He cannot even speak of them
for fear of being institutionalized
or put away, or deemed insane,
but I believe him when he tells me
that they come to him at night,
and although he cannot see them
they sit on his bed and remind him
of all the mistakes he has made
in his lifetime.

I look at him
and I can see his pain.

My ghosts tell me its what
I have to look forward to.

You predictable communists rant,
your lobotomized zombies may chant.
But the people for Trump
are now over the ****.
You'd depose him, we know...  but you can't.

PS:
"** **, Hey Hey - Donald Trump has got to stay!"