A Few lines etched where no words give weight.

Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.

Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.

These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.

So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.

The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.

A Few lines etched where no words give weight.

Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.

Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.

These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.

So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.

The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.

He catches me in lovin--
liking
him
and it's always striking
how my body acts on whim.
He always looks the best
not wearing any clothes,
makes my ***** point west
with their ***** woes.
He makes me think in lovely
and dresses me in kisses:
purple,
black,
red and bruised up
kisses
(he never misses).
I have a necklace ringing
all around my skinny neck,
I wear his love
like a trophy,
do I look a-wreck?
I make him wreck my body
night after night after night
because I want his gaudy,
pale and beautiful might
to come down all at once
and bury me in flesh;
to fill my ears with grunts
and turn my soil threshed.
Thresh me, thresh me hard,
my beautiful man,
my body's prettier marred
with your harmattan
breezes blowing on my sands;
how I really,
really,
really
like
my
man
because he buries me in hugging
and hides me in his warmth;
he always has me shrugging
the yeses from up north
in the epicenter of all pleasure
rooted in my mind;
it's the greatest measure
of our loving time.
He spanks me 'til I moan,
I **** him 'til he's dry,
his touch turns me to stone and
his stroking makes me cry.
Though it may be sore
after a day or so
my heart is always hurting
from the constant flow
of his body's beautiful fluids,
white and clear and true;
who needs a beautiful blue
when I have my like,
my really,
really,
really
like;
it's better than number two.




(I really,
really,
really like you)

Too far away, oh love, I know,  
To save me from this haunted road,  
Whose lofty roses break and blow  
On a night-sky bent with a load  
  
Of lights: each solitary rose,          
Each arc-lamp golden does expose  
Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows  
Night blenched with a thousand snows.  
  
Of hawthorn and of lilac trees,  
White lilac; shows discoloured night        
Dripping with all the golden lees  
Laburnum gives back to light.  
  
And shows the red of hawthorn set  
On high to the purple heaven of night,  
Like flags in blenched blood newly wet,        
Blood shed in the noiseless fight.  
  
Of life for love and love for life,  
Of hunger for a little food,  
Of kissing, lost for want of a wife  
Long ago, long ago wooed.
   .   .   .   .   .   .        
Too far away you are, my love,  
To steady my brain in this phantom show  
That passes the nightly road above  
And returns again below.  
  
The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees        
  Has poised on each of its ledges  
An ***** small girl looking down at me;  
White-night-gowned little chits I see,  
  And they peep at me over the edges  
Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call        
  Them down to my arms;  
"But, child, you're too small for me, too small  
  Your little charms."  
  
White little sheaves of night-gowned maids,  
  Some other will thresh you out!          
And I see leaning from the shades  
A lilac like a lady there, who braids  
  Her white mantilla about  
Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight  
    Of a man's face,          
Gracefully sighing through the white  
    Flowery mantilla of lace.  
  
And another lilac in purple veiled  
  Discreetly, all recklessly calls  
In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed  
Her forth from the night: my strength has failed  
  In her voice, my weak heart falls:  
Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering  
    Her draperies down,  
As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering        
    White, stand naked of gown.
   .   .   .   .   .   .  
The pageant of flowery trees above  
  The street pale-passionate goes,  
And back again down the pavement, Love  
  In a lesser pageant flows.          
  
Two and two are the folk that walk,  
  They pass in a half embrace  
Of linked bodies, and they talk  
  With dark face leaning to face.  
  
Come then, my love, come as you will          
  Along this haunted road,  
Be whom you will, my darling, I shall  
  Keep with you the troth I trowed.

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

There’s a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
  And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:—’Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
  And your English summer’s done.’
    You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind
    And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
    You have heard the song—how long! how long!
    Pull out on the trail again!

Ha’ done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We’ve seen the seasons through,
And it’s time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

It’s North you may run to the rime-ring’d sun,
  Or South to the blind Horn’s hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
  Or West to the Golden Gate;
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,
  And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I’d sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
  Of a black Bilbao *****;
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken **** crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
  Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the sweetest way to me is a ship’s upon the sea
  In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
And the drum of the racing *****,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and ’scends on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new?

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
  And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
  And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It’s ‘Gang-plank up and in,’ dear lass,
It’s ‘Hawsers warp her through!’
And it’s ‘All clear aft’ on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We’re backing down on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
  And the sirens hoot their dread!
When foot by foot we creep o’er the hueless viewless deep
  To the sob of the questing lead!
It’s down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Gunfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake’s a welt of light
  That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powder’d floors
  Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are scarr’d by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we’re booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We’re sagging south on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
  And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
  And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They’re all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They’re God’s own guides on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start—
  We’re steaming all too slow,
And it’s twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
  Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song—how long! how long!
  Pull out on the trail again!

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And the deuce knows what we may do—
But we’re back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We’re down, hull down on the Long Trail—the trail that is always new.

Hence loathèd Melancholy
  Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,
In Stygian Cave forlorn
  ‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy.
Find out som uncouth cell,
  Where brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-Raven sings;
  There, under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Rocks,
As ragged as thy Locks,
  In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But com thou Goddes fair and free,
In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To Ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as som Sager sing)
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,
Zephir with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on Beds of Violets blew,
And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew,
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksom, blith, and debonair.
  Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathèd Smiles,
Such as hang on ****’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrincled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Com, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastick toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crue
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreprovèd pleasures free;
To hear the Lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-towre in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to com in spight of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine.
While the **** with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darknes thin,
And to the stack, or the Barn dore,
Stoutly struts his Dames before,
Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn
Chearly rouse the slumbring morn,
From the side of som **** Hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Som time walking not unseen
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green,
Right against the Eastern gate,
Wher the great Sun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames, and Amber light,
The clouds in thousand Liveries dight.
While the Plowman neer at hand,
Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land,
And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the Mower whets his sithe,
And every Shepherd tells his tale
Under the Hawthorn in the dale.
Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures,
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren brest
The labouring clouds do often rest:
Meadows trim with Daisies pide,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.
Towers, and Battlements it sees
Boosom’d high in tufted Trees,
Wher perhaps som beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two agèd Okes,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savory dinner set
Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her Bowre she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead,
Som times with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the Chequer’d shade;
And young and old com forth to play
On a Sunshine Holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pull’d the sed,
And he by Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,
To ern his Cream-bowle duly set,
When in one night, ere glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend,
And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of dores he flings,
Ere the first **** his Mattin rings.
Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep.
  Towred Cities please us then,
And the busie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies
Rain influence, and judge the prise
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace, whom all commend.
There let ***** oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique Pageantry,
Such sights as youthfull Poets dream
On Summer eeves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonsons learnèd Sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde,
And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linckèd sweetnes long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that ty
The hidden soul of harmony.
That Orpheus self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear
Such streins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regain’d Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The Traveller’s Rest,’
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.

This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.

...strolling down through the night,
Attacking innocence with a frown,
You've treaded through plastic and savages,
Your face buried beneath a gown,
The odd man in the corner says,
You look so down,
It means,
The forest seems black,
You're packed,
We're all long-gone.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you're a Good Man with,
all your Good Looks,
You're a manufacturer of,
Pretty Protest Books,
But your abiding venom is
So full of False Love
You're not a rebel, though you think not,
But you're just too many levels above.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

With your mass thinking codas, oh how you talk,
When you don't fall, there's still the straight bold lines that you walk,
With your gathered myths and conductors, in maths you all speak,
You ask yourself, is everyone so unique?
But by now, you're feeling ill,
You may not understand it,
Those hands of yours are too virginal,
You're not some natural-born bandit.

See, you can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

You've strung some fallen multitude,
Some blind-eyed folks from lost and found,
Don't yet quit all the servitude,
Such groups can't be strung around,
You need respect,
You must check,
That everyone else is bound.
So you've gotten Anarchic Insurance,
Through all these Marxist hooks,
But what an abhorrence,
Your still safe and sound,
Just look at this mess, all of this!

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you look down,
As you have on your hands,
A few clowns from a circus,
You phony philosopher,
You've let all your new fraud,
Work on us.
There should be some law,
Against having you claw
Your masquerades,
And magic through every one of these sold cities.
And even though you say,
Your imagination's not dead,
You've still read,
And forced every Order of Dictation.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you walk along with your pen down,
Past each fancy, carved stone column,
Then a voice says 'don't let your terms down'.
It's a naked fool looking solemn.
But you're still glaring and weeping,
You say 'I simply don't understand'
Then the man says, all out and fleeting,
'It's time for rebirth, When will you give a hand?'

So you're giving up,
You can see, you will stop,
So you can feel something now, if at all.

Now you're wandering past this site,
Of a landscape of metal and rust,
You're in the middle of some walkabout,
Your face coated in dust.
Now, thinking you're some Human Poet,
You go write on how you feel,
When the King Palate comes storming,
And you say 'Is this even real?'

But it's going too fast,
Any truth cannot last,
You're a lie by its own.
But you think you'll still find
Your Glittering Gold.

So you run through into this room,
With this Artist named Rome,
And with his lover, Salo,
They go off and buy you a home,
They have murals of circles,
And Open City souls,
They paint the 120 Days of Flesh,
And all these dead patrols.
They say, as they go about in a thresh,
Only Night has its fantasies,
Before burning your house down.
You won't see any end of dusk comin' around,
You're always a ***,
Your lawyers are decades gone,
Go back to all your Christs and El Dorados.

So when you weave yourself,
Out of that forest,
Don't be paid so attention to,
Don't be bleak,
As every night
Has its unabashed
Intellectual freak.
And before you go,
Between the statues under some sheik,
Remember, this very night
That's when you come...

From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I will finally be beautiful.

The marigolds that will bloom will not flee and vanish from the glow of the sun
They will aspire and capture its power, ever basking in its majesty unlike all that I have done
For they are enduring and evergreen, quite a contradiction to someone always on the run

Helianthus will burgeon from my corpse in the Autumn, cordial, acquiescent and jolly
Luminous hues of gold, superiority in the form of a blooming seedling, free of worldly folly
Irresistible to butterflies and feathered creatures, who shall evermore adore the perennial dolly

Snowdrops with delicate pedicels will pepper the frost polishing over my long corroded flesh,
An impeccable ability to synthesize with the world effortlessly, so that I may at last mesh
Nevermore will I acquiesce to let the world negligently toss me about, instead the world will thresh

Irises in the spring will be next to transcend, ripe with nonconformity rooting from their eccentric peridot petals
For the world encompassing them may be wrapped in blissful ignorance, but  they will forever hesitate to settle
They realize that life is for naught, putrescence is inevitable, so why even make a vain attempt to mettle

As sure as the sun will ascend, the summer will materialize, and the sun's glimmer will rage from dusk until dawn
For the world will strive on, long after I am gone, and my effulgence on the Earth is perpetually withdrawn

I am not fearful of death because in death there is ignorance and blissful uncertainty
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I am in them and that is eternity.

High intensity is not likely,
to cause any serious problems,
But a lack of integrity, definitely will.

two wars, two wounds
four deployments in ten years
the trauma, the scars
the waste, the tears

a soldier driven to madness
numb warriors driven to drink
a lost decade of blood-lust
gives a nation pause to think

how virtue becomes nightmare
how ideals implode and die
how the paradox of intention
is undermined with hidden lies

fighting wars to **** terrorists
on obscure Afghan plains
generations of young ones
sentenced to death and pain

the ***** of bloodied footprints
march strait to a profiteer’s bank
depositing lucrative spoils of war
fill contracts to build more tanks

woe to the battlefield heroes
who answered a country’s call
decorated with broken families
and home mortgage defaults

a minds discombobulation
nurses a spiritual malaise
fuels emotional breakdowns
kindles smoldering rage

kneeling to medieval potentates
to win hearts of corrupt Afghans
guard Loya Jirgas of narco kingpins
spill blood to defend tribal lands

the call of deranged duty
maniacal as a video game
lines of the real and phantasmagoric
firm only in minds of the insane

the Skype connection broken
won’t see the kids face tonight
a land mine took a buddy’s leg
some ***** will set things right

the brain starts quickly buzzin
a zillion scenes flash in the head
better paint blood on the door jams
the grim reaper gonna thresh the dead

don a suit of Kevlar armor
the invincible angel stalks
to avenge blatant inequities
he suffered here and in Iraq

a land washed by ****** oceans
scarlet splashed on every door
death prowls along dark roads
a passover finds no safe abode

the screaming eyes of the angel
inflamed with red spikes of hate
seeks to still the heaving roil
his raging heart could not abate

he murdered a sleeping family
and found another to share its fate
a desperate act to cleanse himself
to find a profane state of grace

this pilgrim of death was not finished
cool retribution must square accounts
a burnt offering to the Lords of War
speak the deeds sermon on the mount

dragging live and dead bodies
stacking unholy pyres in the hall
no angel to stop this Abraham's hand
this grotesque executioners pall

Staff Sargent Bales was arrested
He now sits in the prison of his thoughts
does his trembling mind have knowledge
of what his awful hands have wrought?

or does a trembling nation
so much in love with war
understand its complicity
with what it should abhor?

the blood of innocents drip
from every American sill
as the passover approaches
the stain invites an angel’s ill will

Music Selection:
Charles Gounod,
Funeral March of a Marionette

Oakland
3/19/12
jbm

Washed up on the sandy beach
amidst the summer rain,
The mighty king of the Pacific
lay in persecuting pain.
The creature wailed with ***** prowess,
but his health was soon to wane,
And by the morning that came after,
sovereign was reduced to stain.

Vultures from the distance
ripped apart his tender flesh
With spit to sear his wounded majesty
and claws to tear and thresh.
The wicked gang of savage butchers
in a loathsome, boorish mesh
Would make a swollen, seething carcass
of our one-time Venkatesh.

Three days after passing,
fallen Caesar, set to rise,
Was then revoked his Heaven’s passage,
and left wallowed in demise:
A body plagued by every virus;
swarmed by avaricious flies,
Stranded, rotting, in the Earth realm,
‘stead of claiming his due prize.

Hurricanes, October,
brought the wrath of Davy Jones
To wreak an evil-minded havoc
and to thrive on victim moans,
And dash the Herculean skeleton
upon the crags and stones
To rain on thousands with the splinters
of his elephantine bones.

Titanic barnstorms the Tennessee plain through jet powered airplane
As though the Lusitania New York City could hardly proffer a contradictory profane
Nevertheless the intricacies of gamboling and gambling garble too many dice
Listerine rinses a whitewashed flaw until it singes gravity sawed twice
Three pieces of would form a tripartite could, that can’t because beggars are mute and rude
That beggars whisper the hymns of an immemorial festivity churlish upon listless attitude
So we hearken the classics and drop the ink quill upon that pile of effluvium and molasses
We invent friction just to pass a fall’s worth of failed jack-*****
“No more” he exclaimed just as the leaky faucet marginally contained
“Know more reason and you will be fully redeemed”
So I cannot pinpoint the provenance of despair among discrete colonies with barter too unfair
With ***** dens conflagration’s dead blank stare
The pit of the useful and the heap of the useless sorted into neat piles on either side of the River Nile
And each pottery keepsake is a husk of a land long ago defiled
But the hunters that talismans comfort shadowed into a grave crypt
They marooned a contact with pedigree to become flimsy with vogue equipped
So they lament on an August morning, lugubrious in toil and minatory in warning
The darkest nights yet seen by sirs yet sheen rollicking in mourning
We skedaddle the limited spectrum of shallow rust becoming hard work’s dross
Draining the swamp of career politicians that prefer the aroma of cod over the swagger of skunks with high sunk costs
Filch me a new coast Bill the Butcher and secure my passage for bonanzas of wealth
A fool’s card is now the traipsed parliament of one world stealth
Among the aristocracy an impediment to change locks all race in internecine game
Racecar palindromes offered as sacrifice to winsome but momentary glares aglow with disdain
Neuter the profligate, neutralize the builder’s set, stain the chastity of the Marmoset
Suddenly the zero-sum game adds up to twenty
With every dime and dozen going to infinity beyond debt with prosperity aplenty
As the laggards play dominoes on quaint tables frittering at the surface
Foment the disregarded rage and wrangled page into a classic Ace of Base
But who really is Walter White?
Does he live in camouflaged tents next to trees daring an alien but mutual fright?
Is he the kind of Wizard that never had consanguinity with alarmist rite and expeditious lies that aleatory fate is somehow too proximal to become in lambent sight?
Questions answer themselves over time with droned litanies of every conceivable tome
Forgotten in an ash heap in Alexandria more so than Rome
Supersonic flight that hedges prizes qualified kites
Encyclopedias of knowledge won’t even decode ghastly ghoulish capes of an off-color might
Now we simper at the glowering ignorance of menial men
Swimming with sharks and synchronized with the obnoxious hen
They won’t learn nearly as much from the Sun as warmth as they would the Moon for guidance
They won’t plaster Paris with the vandalism as counseling for pilfered tridents
So maybe the Anglophones have a menagerie yet seen
Maybe the game was introduced so early the royalty knows explicitly of beatific beams.
All is lost can never be forgiven in the land before time
In the land before precise minutes, seconds and momentary fragrance of threadbare design
So horology is horrific, when the jaws of the aliens in time thresh galloping headless horsemen Revered in this part of town
The imperial switchboard was stocked to the brim
The counterbalance of a Washington winter was equally grim
Embittered by the bellicose autonomy of fledgling families with endless land but limited prosperity
The dragooned riposte resounded among church bells with alarmism in sincerity
But the attrition of winter and the conditions of every primordial printer
Staged the coup that led to the walloped whimper
As the world shrank and wealth enlarged
As the shark tank of time plowed through shares like an ice threshing barge
We found that history is the caretaker of fringe reason becoming indomitable arbitrage
And for ever space that exists from now to the beginning of time there has always been space that begins with a luxurious spa and thereafter credit charged.

"From Thy Thresh-Holds,
I Wish To Uphold;
Through The Wave-Tide Αnd Gravity,
To Where I Feel Sympathy!"

"To Thy Branches I Rest,
A Tree Of A Caring-Shade;
Like Thy Sturdy-Roots Of Crest,
Shall I Stay Brave Αnd Will Never Fade!"

"From Thine Gift Of Wings I Fly,
Into Horizons Of Unsearched-Sky;
By The Limits Of Reality,
Shall I Soar My Dreams Upon A Fantasy!"

"Αnd On Thine Heart,
Shall My Nest Be Built;"

"Peacefully Αnd Gently,
Shall I Take My Rest;
For With Thine Compassion,
I Am Caressed!"

ideal porcelain pin)k crease
      supple
                  roots in twaining
                  correct abstinence
                 gone rusty septum
                  thresh brimming
                      sacrifice;
shattered peace breathe heaving freckles
luscious ocean CraSh! salty teeth on plush shore
       make a specific cry blushing shoal
lush ribbon moan so       wet               you...

birthed from the roost above the ground
cooing whoooing shuddering sounds of a flock
holding uniting all in its bold thunder
morning doves serenade awakens to day
holding out the clatter the buzz and were
of industrial chimes
my eye hiding in the shadow of night
to remain in the darkness of sleep all knowing
what awaits the losing of peace in morning time
the harsh noise of man made waste
polluting the mind abruptly canceling
the dreams of the divine...
the reach for meaning a vision that sees mystery
hears the sound held in the cooing nature of doves
living life the primeval nature verses man kind
mature maligned by the noise of industry
power and greed to over whelm
the soft strokes of nature to mature
to be to bring forth the glory of day
in natures life of humans and creatures sharing
the morning air waves my eye hidden
in darkness of soul first light glow
to abound in freedom the being reborn
the nature of time to reveal another great mystery
to remain in the darkness once more
to allow nature to dream with me
to set the motion of true love on its ear
to straddle night to  day
oh great being that is life let me lay
in your celestial comfort starlight of night
all winds cooler apree vestin  Earth
revolves to the east rising into the starlight in day
interrupting this tranquil starry night
the to day of starlight
my eyes piercing and rolling still shuttered
in the time of longing for the peace
that holds my world divine this inner light
and belief that love is a real place
that allows the birthing of joy
a serene moment giving life an up lift
resets the Earth into the starlight of day
to know my being is one in time
with living nature I hide in the darkness
awaiting my faerie tail to swish away
the cobwebs that abound in the night
on the thresh hole of first light a reason
to hold back the noise of man made creation
the serene born from darkness to know the truth
light of living life the joy alive
holding my being in the dream of first light
poetry has captured the uttering within my breast
swelling and rising into the starlight of day
the morning doves cooing bodies shuddering at will
to be heard the first light of day
honored for the love giving hope to surrender...
the old that comes before me the memories of time
starlight life rays that birthed the Earth
all these moments honored
the old comes before the rage of man
its industrial noise to heavy
for the morning light disappears squandered
by greed pushing  pulling at the sun
to conform in its man made realm
to mimic creation...   gjmars  6/25/15

which side is real
day or dream
based on how it feels
not how it seems
a thresh-hold, marginal at best
to keep the sane from all the rest
in research we demoralize
the beauty held within our eyes
i cannot describe what i once felt
pure emotion, heaven's hell

my mind frays in poisson distribution.
small remnants of your heat invade my chest
like shrapnel. the moths lose constellations
to buzzing lamps that light our careful rest.
we cup our heat in folds of fragile flesh
the way the oysters do––these streets are queer,
don’t bear our weight correctly.  pavements thresh
small bones out from our soles. they **** ants here––
the sacrifice of insects builds our nest.
air mixes carefully, distended by
the probability of night. the breaths
are small and incendiary,
but dawn means i’ll grow tall and be again
human and able to understand pain.

let me tell you something about regret

let me tell you something about being saturated with your thoughts, about being completely above your thresh hold of absorption and trying to desperately figure out how you can get out of it

it's a delicate game between i hope he gets it and he never does, a fine line between texting him at 1am trying to apologize for what you've been doing wrong and realizing he's just a boy and he can't handle that

we cling unflinchingly to the memories of our past until eventually we are tunnel visioned by them, unable to move forward because they are the quicksand in our mind forcing us to stay

and let me tell you about trying to do texts at midnight drunk on the absence of sleep telling them that they surely understand, trying to get closure to the fact that no you are not the only one who feels like this, he feels it too, but it will always be about someone else  

and i could give you countless essays on replaying images of their tears, on wishing that you were never in a ******* hotel corridor spilling your heart out to stain your dress with red memories, red red dark red memories that will always stay there

or the time, perhaps, when you were not freezing because he was there next to you to heat you, because the sound that escaped his speakers were melodies that comforted the both of you through the tidal waves of something larger than you and something able to engulf you with a single blow

but let me tell you how it all ends, how you think you can never go back to the feeling of mistakes when you aren't making any, when you're stuck alone in this big world without talking to anyone because it only causes trouble doesn't it? but it always swings back around and there isn't a cure for it

i could write a million and one essays explaining how i have felt the past two years of my life, how from the moment my thighs were frailer than my wrists to the moment i couldn't fit back into my favourite pair of pants, from the time i first saw all of their brown eyes to the time i last saw them, from the awkward moments in the hall that are filled with void and anger and tension to the moments when i would beg to see them again for just a little bit more, but i have realized that i can never make you get it

the only way to get it is to experience it, and for those of you who understand what i'm talking about, try to get some sleep tonight, try to keep the memories out of your dreams

bitter winds bite
a desperate heart

as early darkness
unsheathes winter's
slivering moon

the perfect
celestial sickle
threatens to thresh
exposed digits

wayward trundlers
heaving bulky
sacks of woe

scutter down
the city's
darkest
side streets

making haste
to the only
lighted room
that still
welcomes them

cots boast
lumpy clots
of errant springs
and jagged hooks

grappling the lodger
atop a mattress
in bumpy knots of
institutional green

coughs and snores
cusses and laughter
sighs and tears
all ceaseless
prayers

some mumbled
some shouted
some thought
some roared
some farted
some cried
some sung

speaking mutely of
the weighty day

resenting new
hard memories

hoping for a
dreamless sleep


Friends Shelter
NYC
12/31/08
jbm

Music Selection: Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers: Moanin

INTRO

What happens beyond the realms of  reasoning, where do the lines of  reality blur, How close are the boundaries between light and dark, between dusk and dawn.
  What takes us beyond the thresh hold, the point of  sunlight and shadows, Are  we lying in wait as our limitations are questioned? How many souls have been taken unwillingly to the depths .
         Fall into a place, this chaos which so quickly crept into me, slipping away bringing me back to thoughts of sanity.
  But tainted thoughts stain what innocence is left, making me vulnarble and weak.
  Corruption is tempting you to just give into its wicked ways, influenced by bad habits unable to be dealt with, your surccumed to the sins.
  Such problems now swallow you entirely. There is no cure to this disease, I'm fighting and pondering a hopeless battle, I see no victory for me in the end.
  I will never win, I fear and know this now.

CHAPTER ONE

After the silence entered me,got inside rmy head  ,the lack of sound drowned out all the outside noise . Oh so quiet my world became,except for a suttle  humming,buzzing which echoed in my ears, I could only make it cease with the voices in my mind,my thoughts which I could now hear, and I heard them loud and clear. I heard fear, panic,uncertainty, so many questions I had no answers for.  I told myself its just this happens,maybe its just age,it won't last, this silence won't last,right. Yet another voice told me that something has gone terribly wrong here,and that this is only the begging of my end.  Along came the silence with it then came isolation, one by one everyone I loved let me and has not yet came back. Not even strangers met my path, instead I came across loneliness who now won't leave my side, all alone left to deal with me by myself.

CHAPTER TWO


It didn't take much time until the whispers began at first they only came with dusk,the end of day,when the sun sets taking the light from the world. The sky dims ,lower and lower until all is covered with a blanket of darkness. Shadows creep in slowly cascading across my walls, they remind me that something wicked this way comes,the essence of dread is in the air. An unsettling aura keeps me from sleep, as night falls my eyes grow heavy and my mind is so tattered. Yet slumber eludes me for the fear is much stronger. I lye  awake yet another night. Up until yesterday only an unwelcoming silence suffocated me made my emptiness almost unbearable. Then,well then it was broken, in the 2am hour, a whisper entered my dreamless conscience mind,from no distinct place and yet from every direction both at once

CHAPTER THREE

With such length of time now with deaf ears, I instantly noticed the change of frequencies, though it spoke in a low,low pitch normally it would go unheard or simply mistaken as a gust of wind. But lying there uneasy amounst the darkness of solitude,lacking of sleep and being not of sound mind by this point, I had begun to speak my thoughts aloud, answering my own questions, listening to my own voice somehow gave me comfort when nothing else could. Whispers,quiet whispers echo into the night, for my ears only. I can't clearly understand what they tell me, but the tones of each word gave
off a unsettling undertones that sent chills through me, if only I could understand, but  my  translation of these whispers are inaudible, pinned down by a fear that I'm sinking in slowly,like quicksand,its slowing pulling me under. A catatonic scream paralyzes every part of me, and I can't stop this, this downward spiral into madness. A descent into insanity, I feel myself growing weaker as my mind struggles against  chaos and the discontent , my dreams are dying before my eyes that will not close so I might rest, no no lately the days have brought me only misery,and a question of my faith, it will not give me a moment of ease cause every night has been just the same

CHAPTER FOUR

Why is this happening to me, why won't this just stop, and let me be, this hope fades the longer I live this way, won't somebody come save me, I'm wasting away and I have no control , my will is broken now. How did I not see this coming, something wicked this way comes, it comes for my soul, every peice of me turns black, and it hurts until I'm numb, A sudden suffer rips over me just before dawn, I  understood the  whisperes after all ,go adead just give in, suffocation is near, taken into a sea of self despair, this life you live and breath isn't yours any longer, step by step you will stumble, until you fall, until your empty and hollow.  Where can I go, where will I run, when there's nowhere to hide, nowhere at all. I thought i saw a glimpse of the mourning sun before I fainted from the weight of realizing that I am far from the better days ,tomorrow will lead me further, is this real, or I'm I only dreaming, is this reality or have I imagined all of this, I just don't know these days, time laughs in my face, and I sit silent and still. Watching myself fall,and fall and fall

CHAPTER FIVE

  Down in the dark, an endless night, keeps away the sunshine, cause lately I've been stuck in the shade, wishing for brighter days that are so faintly seen in the distance, I fear none of my wishes will be granted, now many of will be destroyed. I can not change this spiral into extinction, helplessly I watch myself stumbling, crumbling, and slowly coming apart.
  As I live and breath, I see my life wasting away.
Choking on what is yet to come, everyday brings me another dose of misery and a lothing ache that spreads thru me , suffocation is draining me from the inside out, What is pain, I can't scream loud enough to express what has taken ahold of me these days
  All this crept in on me like a cloud, why me I keep asking myself, won't this just go away, won't this just let me be, did I deserve this, well did i , nobody should ever know these wicked ways and all the inflict upon your soul.

CHAPTER 6

Y So with my mind a mess so much so that my consintration strains each thought, I can barely function anymore, and sleep depervation blurs my vision,ive been seeing traces and objects that aren't really there. Plus add the pain, loneliness, and total breakdown of my will, the stress is more then I can handle, I bear a heavy burden, and the weight is crushing me, but what can I do, nothing, I can't run far enough,or hide where I can't be found, please save my soul I whisper aloud, to late the damage is done, this is how I will die, surcombed to a bittersweet end, one day at a time. Now adrift into the void that swallows me up ,and a darkness dissolved another
day

CHAPTER 7

Within a few days I have managed to lose everything, All I am, all I gave and all I  made of this life, Step by step I watched it taken from my grasp, I saw what I worked so hard for be stolen, so easily from me. Peice by price my very exsistance was shattering , All this has torn my world whole apart,  it is being taken out from right underneath my feet.
   Ya I've been experiencing some real trials and tribulations ,they say life isn't easy  but they don't go into depths of how ****** up it can be, or how far down you can fall without any warnings or signs that you didn't realize until it was to late and the damage has been done.  Oh no I've heard some really messed up stories about some of the **** some people have lived thru. But in my personal opinion my life started 2 days ago and it this life of mine since then has been slowly deterating,

CHAPTER 8

ya I'm a sad sort who isn't alive in a sense but instead a slipping mindless  lost soul, that has nothing to look forward to because tomorrow isn't going to be any better and it never will.
    When the sun rises up from the darkness  bringing you Into another morning your wishing harder and harder wouldn't come. That just one night would be your last and you wouldn't take another breath of the morning air. Why oh why can't you just fade out with the darkness,  why oh why can't these misfourtonate events of lately end, I just want everything to just end. And if you Were in my shoes I know for certain you would feel the same way as I do now.


CHAPTER 9

Y … Well I can not express these emotions that have, but they are intensely surging inside me. And I only wish I could share my pain, if only there was someone besides myself to share what I'm going through. It would make it a little easier, well probably not but at least someone else would understand,to feel what I do right now.
So it may seem like I'm droning on and on, Im probably not telling my story so anyone can make sense of it.
  So sorry if I haven't made sense or if I've told this scattered all about.  My thoughts aren't as sharp or clear as they were before this nightmare started, a few short no make that long,long days ago.

Chapter 10

YThis verse keeps repeating in the back of my mind, kinda like a
  song you  hear somewhere but your not sure where, and can't get outta your head ,you find yourself humming it subconsciously ,and this is whats stuck in mine.
  Here I am, Here in this place, Here in this state,Here I am a nowhere Wonderer.
  This is me, This is all of me, This is what I've become, This is who you see now, LA LA LA LA
  I hum this melancholy tune as sappy as it may be,all day long from morning to evening, 24 hours,no 48 hrs. , no 64 hrs. now. I guess I've lost count but it seems that there's been a broken record placed someplace inside my head.

chapter 11

YSo this brings me back to the present hour.  And once again, yet one more day which hasnt let up on any of torment continuing to be inflicted upon my mind, body and soul. I struggled through the sunlight until the moonlight shone down upon me.
  Naturally I find myself lying silent and still, insomnia plagues my weairy self , drained of any motivation. I really couldn't move or accomplish a single thing, I felt frozen inside myself, trapped in a almost vegetable state.
      Dropped in the velvet shroud of darkness, night has placed a veil over the land, and it has me in its embrass but instead of a calming drowsiness as  all others are effected, I instead have an allergic reaction.  For sleep will not come to my tired restless soul, not when fear enters the mind and stirs up the worst of thoughts, how can I relax with such horrible not stations.
      

Chapter 12

T  Here I am starring into the air as the clock marks 3 in the am hour.  I almost thought I might or that I could catch a few zzzzz's, a quick cat nap to recooperate,to regenerate my mind,oh yes my mind in such a desperate need of rest. As well as my body, my sore,aching bones, im throbing all the way to my very core. So when I felt at ease for how ever brief a moment it may last I willed sleep to come, sandman bring me to the land of nod, please oh please.
  But of course as I shouldn't of expected much less, I blinked and my moment was gone, once more I wouldn't dream,wouldn't sleep, wouldn't find slumber or any escape from my new found reality,
In a land far far away, fantasy and make beleive are put on pause cause my presence has been marked absent

Chapter 13

   They started in a low low  tone, the whispers.
Whisper,whisper,whisper, ascending louder with each tick tock of the clocks hands, clockwise,round and round the clocks face marking time, reminding me my life grows shorter with each tick and each tock.
  Ya t-i-m-e isn't on my side, oh no its not, but it makes me feel lm gonna die, and I'll keep running back, yes I'll keep running back.  Ya I can't stop even if I tried. N-o-o-o time isn't on my side, and that's a brutal fact.
Hhiisss, hiss, blahblahblah,yaddayaddayadda, mumbles of the incoherent voices, the voices I guess if that's what you want to call them, these whispers calling out to me, relentlessly tearing me down , thru all the twilight hours
of the night.
   With the morning dawn,  the whispers grow quite once more, disapating with the dark skies.
  Im conflicted by the sight of the sun rising, not sure if I welcome the light of day or curse another day I find myself in it.
  For one daybreak ends the whispers which I'm sssooo thankful for, but yet its another day I have to deal with the misery and pain that seems to intensify with every day that comes and gos and comes back for another round.
  
  

chapter 14


  I got a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror today and I almost didn't recognize the stranger staring back at me me face had changed, my cheeks where sunken in, I didn't notice how much weight I had lost, but I guess I hadn't eaten a thing for days I just had no appetite the thought of food made me nausious, so I went without.
  And my eyes they looked so vacant my pupils where so dialated like eyes gone black, to match the deep darkened circles under them.
Just a glance and you could tell ive been neglecting my health, I looked pretty banged up, a real mess. I didn't dare look to long cause my appearance made me sick to my stomach, in only  3 days going on 4 I seemed to have aged 10 years, and the deeping lines on my face showed it.
Oh what a sorry sight I am, and I'm glad no one will see me this way, even if someone did I had a feeling they wouldn't even care. I let out a depressing sigh I am damaged goods now, this black cloud that hangs over me has made sure to push and shove everything I had, all that I loved. Took my life right out of my hands and crushed it, so that piece by price my life wasn't my own anymore, I had nothing to link me to the life I once knew. Why me, I don't think I'll ever know. But what a tangled web they've wooven for me, and on that note I let out another mournful sigh.
  

Chapter 15

YSo I push and shove well corruption bends my will, no matter what I do I can not make it still. Instead Im inflicted with a disease that there is known cure for, my diagnosis is a fatal one with a slim chance to nil that I'm gonna go into remission and win,having a full recovery, , I can feel it in my bones and I just know I will lose this battle,no matter how tough or how hard I fight against this,this bad bad thing, this destroyer of souls, this devourer of free will, this monster in my nightmares that has crawled out from my dreams to haunt me well I'm awake. I think I'm going crazy, but Im watching myself go insane and I have no control, how maddning this situation has reached, reaching out without reasoning.


Chapter 16

  So here I am still as another day finds the dawn and once more I watch the sun rise, but I can't see the beauty in this anymore.
Now I believe this makes day four without sleep, without rest, without happiness, without any emotion or feeling, except the constant dread and emptiness that has drained me dry.
  I can tell this wickedness has grown a little stronger, its borrowing its way into my soul.
  Alls I can do is helplessly sit back and and wait, to just let this happen to me, and realizing this only makes me weaker. Im becoming such a fragile being, I'm almost afraid to move from this spot, cause my brittle body will most likely shatter to peices.


Chapter 17

Tick tock, tick tock the clock laughs in my face, it screams at me telling me that time has no meaning in my life from this moment on, and as the hands round the clocks face hour after hour, tick tock tick tock, your running out of time , your life is coming to an end sooner then later.
  Amoungst the buzzing silence of the daytime, I hear the clock somewhere in the background, its becoming a nuisance, annoying me just enough to where I can't possibly try to ignore it.
  I sit here silent and still, motionless , paralyzed from fea

A dirtless ditch,
you tongue the plains
and stretch numb arms
in sleeves of ink.

Eroding stone
and carmine vines  
claw into shoulders
and dry eyes.

Please heed my words
escape artist.
I would not lie
on withered leaves.

With rope and wall
you cannot climb
so high to fall
and deaden nerves.

Hands tingle now,
needles alive
like clouds and slate
that built the skies.

Throat thresh and whine
at coal-charred mouth
while legs do shine
angelic fright.

Wolves prowl the grounds
to kiss the cheeks
of those they yearn
to eat but twice.

A need for none
is apex sin
that Love does not,
with ease, forgive.

Look up to sky
with smirk alight,
and stretch your arms
so wide.

A stray dog's brow
shows only strength.
There is much hope
for you.

"Were it not for imagination, Sir, a man would be as happy in the arms of a Chambermaid as of a Duchess." -- Dr. Johnson*

And what of angels, that dream?
The young face reflected on the stream,
More reflection than its living flesh?
From what field does inwadness thresh
Acceptance and vision enough
To know the desolateness of love?

I awaken in a frozen forest
The frost grips my lungs with icy claws
My face is numb and yet I can feel it burn
Snow covers my skin like a gown
As I sift through the permeating fog
A chilling veil of foreboding demise

The oak and ash trees stand like pillars
A silent kingdom encased underneath aeons of time
I turn my eyes to the sky; greeted by the deepest grey
The snow falls gently to the ground
Covering all these graves and where they lay
Stumbling forth through the brush
The wind howls among the boughs

And there stood the palace
A structure made from the strongest oak
Engraved with the runes of the gods
The doors appear as mirrors but ripple with touch
From within the fire burns bright
Lingering ash fills my senses; attracted to the warmth
Passed the thresh-hold I move
And everything disappears

A lady in white stands before me now
Veiled with what could only be death itself
And from her lips mists the very essence of despair
These are her haunted woods
All around, are reflective crimson pools
Steaming against the bite of the wind
Pools of death, pools of men who came before me

She constructs me a tower to the heavens
And instructs me to stay forever
I will do so, without hesitation
Compelled by the raging fire in her eyes
So, from my frozen tower I watch
The embers paint the blackened skies
An eerie shade of amber, permeated with smoke
The forest is burning


The fire in her eyes was released
From on high, I watch her **** herself
Burning alive, a victim of her own passion
I clutch my chest and find a hole
Dry and empty, just a grotesque cavity
She stole my heart in my sleep
And it lit the fire that destroyed this beautiful place
Now a sanctuary of death
In my tower I'll sit forever
Writhing in endless pain
I killed her with my heart
I killed the lady veiled with ice
I killed the only good to come from my conscious mind

I gazed into the masses once again,
As oft I do each day jus' 'fore the morn ray,
This, to divert myself from the perpetual nothing,
And so they passed, eyes shifting now and then,
The parade of the endless masquerade,
Moving with undying fixation throughout the day,
Before such a bleak spectacle,
I sought intrigue, lest I fall in my folly, something,
Amongst such monotony could bring some solace,

(What is their purpose?)

In this pursuit of novelty I found him,
Not unlike the rest, an exact replica of masterful precision,
No fault could be found in this transcription of flesh,
Detail seemed as crystal though the morn still dim,
Yet, with the greatest of scrutiny the answer would remain
No equation nor system for separation,
Not but by the work of chance was he chosen,
While focused, only with my eyes did he I thresh,
Before me, now, was only the man and the street which he tread,

(How can they see?)

I thought as to what action of inquiry to pursue,
For never had I followed them in their repetitious vigil,
Perhaps I could lean insight as I stray from my languor,
May it, this spark of macabre curiosity, subdue,
And so did I step forth from my vantage above,
Approaching I saw he bore no symbol nor sigil,
This I sought as some slight piece with which to identify,
I had known there would be none, yet it chilled me to the core,
I fell in behind him, despite this feeling of trepidation,

(Where do they come from?)

Instead of walking forth, they shambled on,
It seemed to me as it were a single entity, each bound to the next,
Yet, they bore only illusory shackles and masks,
What were these phantasmal creations they had don,
As I focused on his own it seemed to coalesce before me,
It appeared ever-shifting, but never changing, leaving me perplexed,
None of it's forms could fit any description,
So alien, but familiar in the face of the facts,
A feeling of great discomfort came from the spectacle before me,

(What are they?)

As we continued on a second oddity was unveiled,
The masses had always been youthful in form,
But now, as I walked, they aged before me,
Slowly, the man's lids drooped and his skin paled,
Watching in horror, I felt fear coarse through my being,
They did not slow or act as their bodies continued to deform,
Instead they, and the man, remained in their endless exodus,
It was then that I wondered if perhaps they did flee,
For, though their actions disorderly it seemed prearranged,

(What do they seek?)

After some time an antiquated cemetery came into view,
I knew this place, though I had never before visited,
It was in some surreal recollection came the memory,
A place of ashes, dust and the morning dew,
But long had it been since the morn passed away,
I could now make out the moon, though my view limited,
Time had left me on my venture, thus had the day,
And so now sat the moon as the clouds did carry,
But they too trekked on, even as they and the man,

(Where does their path end?)

Ahead they entered the place before and on past my sight,
The man approached the gates and passed inside,
I trailed along to the archway of dark iron and steel,
It's form before me grew menacing, as some strange blight,
It had corroded, but not rust so that it was jagged and bent,
For the first time hesitant, I moved with a tentative stride,
I had resolved to sate my curiosity and I could not were I to stop,
I reached the gate, but passing through a hand I did feel,
It pulled me back with great force and I heard a soft voice.

Only the dead may pass.

I fear nothing this ah war for souls
They get no better nails and I’m counting my goals
Was ah thresh hole how much can you handle
I hid up in your hood C Rock is ah vandal
Nightmares he seen the eyes of ah dragon
In the fifty-nine Chevy call me baby blue wagon
It get deeper I’m the grifo with caper
You ah played out beeper and my cell is the sleeper
Cutting throats we could meet in the trench
Cause when it be your turn in hell you will burn
He gon’ return more people I drown
Enslave with the music know you feeling me now
You wish to enter the ******* point
This ah dream state where the subjects in mode
Bad place you could end up missing
I slay for the hunger with the murderous vision

I got ah crime on my mind that I haven’t committed
But I’ma execute it with some soldiers that’s with me
We hit Lakes and **** with their bricks
Their ten key piddles of that AZ ****
I got ah crime on my mind that got me living
Like I said on L.A times the unforgiven
Hard hitting in this music busi.
Location unknown but I’m running this *****

Ese dead to the world I’ma tell ah terror
With the skeleton key unlock ah new era
Full of rage from the first four albums
Homie see the laughing corpse playing with the revolver
I emerge from the fall of mountains of madness
C.O.N the baddest make ah enemy vanish
Candles burn for endless nights
You see highs from the pen and this is why
The rebel violence ******* solve
From the steel gold shells on the ground they ball
The decor body dead on the floor
He screamed like ah ***** but the city ignored
No report that’s why she died
Thirteen bullets out the corner of my eye
Then five past twelve you said goodbye
Rest in **** muthufucker but I got no reply

I got ah crime on my mind that I haven’t committed
But I’ma execute it with some soldiers that’s with me
We hit Lakes and **** with their bricks
Their ten key piddles of that AZ ****
I got ah crime on my mind that got me living
Like I said on L.A times the unforgiven
Hard hitting in this music busi.
Location unknown but I’m running this *****

Tear the skin off your back
To make yourself wings
Jump off the edge
Cut all your strings

Float on the breeze
With pinions of flesh
Searching yourself
For demons to thresh

Catching semiotic holdings from a cow-licked brain ****
Matching periodic scoldings, from a plough of picked-plain art

Filled prescription left for digestive tracts dissolution
Milled conscription cleft as congestive cracks merge in illusion

Temporal reconstruction, as the Adderall seeps into place
Federal distribution, as the admiral heaps the case
Welled as the spineless listen to a cautionary thought
Held as a timeless vision of a stationary plot

Pillbox running on fumes, causing fresh hysteria to solidify
Paradox coming, dawn looms, pausing thresh, staging an area to demystify

Later, new levy forbids pawing fear, spoken rotten, a deloused baiting sound
Cater to heavy lids, drawing near the cotton housed waiting ground

as i thresh
              and winnow,
           the words of my heart;

anger and scorn,
             become chaff
                         set upon the
                     blustering winds.

and love remains,
                         golden seeds
left,
to nourish
               and grow
                crops of life,
                   love and laughter.