"pullies" poems
Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
LIke Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.
The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgement
continues to see . . .
Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pullies
like the stone jaw of a back-hoe.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a ****** daughter.
And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault
. He should have known!
In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.
Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspriation.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.
I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .
Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he ***** her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.
2.6k
Each day I wake, I adorn my mask
Cover the pain, a most daunting task
I hide deep within my hallowed shell
Puppeteer function, hope none can tell
Pull the crooked lever hinged to the smile
Interact with strangers, another dial
Crank the handle that winds up the walk
Yank on the chain to make the mouth talk
Like a one man band who plays and sings
Work all the complex pullies and strings
Mechanized master, it's become routine
Armoured safe within my tarnished machine
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
trippin on a drug called power
elevated from the ground like sky high towers
turning mortal men into monsters
turning gardens of goodness into demonic dumpsters
turning flowers of love into ****** barbwire
slow soul subtraction assets quickly turn to loss
turn a snot nosed punk into a shot calling big boss
turning stations and twisting knobs
small tin soldiers turn into genocidal gods...
with powerful rods of wrath and revenge
creeping death on the end of a syringe
on a neverneding binge burned and synged and set to devour
trippin on a drug called power
false prophets,preachers, and puppets bring that ridiculous revival
on sweaty sin stages of strength and mad survival
slaves and kings on ropes and pullies
helmets head get struck with bullets
and prisoners of pain they wither into nothing
strong ones die like there's no tomorrow
trippin on a drug called power
i rise like the sun and fall down to my knees
that drug called power leaves me dark and diseased
the heartless warden laughs as he dangles the keys
he screams like a nazi...."WORK WILL MAKE YOU FREE"
i die like the grass and toxic trees
i swim with the fish in a cyanide stream
satan feasts on my flesh...he grins and he seethes
seconds and minutes march on to meet that final hour
trippin forever on a drug called power.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC