Gallus Gallus Domesticus
Uncourageous Uncourageous Coward-"icus"
These are the people we believe to possess high ideals.

So elite and luxurious,
so stainless and luscious.
All dressed in designers
with adorners.

Boundless extravagance
inspite our disacceptance,
yet in the face of danger
they would be the first to disappear.
But then, who are we to judge others
when we would equally do the same.

Out here,
in this place,
Its everyman or woman
for himself or herself.
Its you and i, all by ourself.

you know what’s really haunting about pictures like this:
    (see profile picture)
i only found out about the paris massacre
at 6pm.
so this whole mental illness debacle...
i guess i’ll have to fake it, improvise,
all the great ones did it to push people away
for some peace and quiet...
i’m seeing... i’m seeing the equivalent of
the 100 years war with islamic barbarism...
there simply isn’t a mein kampf orientation of:
what comes next?
the only thing that comes next is panic...
why didn’t they shout THIS IS FOR IRAQ!
why suddenly involve: ah crap, i knew it,
the re-emergence of poland on the map
ensure the post-colonial nations get the ***** treatment,
i was subjugated to prussian, russian and austro-hungarian
authority for some time, what the ****?!
the french / english / spanish trinity of colonialism
is not my 5pm cup of tea... **** it... let’s tango anyway...
let’s tango with hail marias in england
and magdalenes in corfu or ibiza...
yes... i’ve lost touch with reality... your definition of reality...
but at least i am the one who’s immersed...
you’re still stuck to the slavish realism of paying taxes and
kissing the bonnet of a sports car / boiler -
i’ve lost touch with your definition of reality...
mind the 1% budged of the n.h.s. caring
more for fatties and smokers... wisecrack.
well, what are the parisians gonna do... #: weareeaglesofdeathfans...
that won’t sell... my bet is... they won’t even bother
to entourage democracy this time... watch and learn boys...
they shot sub-culture admirers... they won’t march...
we’re **** to them... the neo-hippies...
they... will... not... march... this time, i promise you that.
it’s not politically adequate for the WE STAND TOGETHER pantomime...
they won’t.... i know them when i see them
crazy eyed and pathetic and uncourageous...
so unto satan and the kabbalah...
ever hear the post-traumatic stress-disorder of satan
having to hear ah ah ah oh oh oh uh uh uh
of woman?
there’s only two left... eh / i = pronoun....
satan does not have access to the vowels e and i....
i.e. he took back a tape recording of ***** into hell
to play on loop... while the tortures took place...
sweet music some say...
let’s see tomorrow.
theoretically though? losing the prefix un-,
and attributing something more functional
in relation to the conscious faculties of thought / memory /
imagination... you can only decrease your chances
of dreaming and provide the antidote to the theories
of the unconscious... it's already stressed in psychiatric
theory as animalistic... animals make sense of the world
with their distinctive "onomatopoeias" & intuition;
write poetry like it's a front-page story
that shoved through the queue elbowing people
to be first... hit the molten iron into shape while it's
amber hot... reference actual immersion in the world
(existence), rather than referencing non-immersion
in the world of idealism (essence / not
necessary essentials).

As bland as the snow-covered lawn
     I stare
wishing I were as resilient
                          as the scraggly blades of grass
                          refusing to hide their presence
                under the act of God.

     And I stare
                 because I cannot feel who I am today.

The withering bush
                         gives me no hope
                                                       nor
                   the single starving starling
                                             peck
                                             peck
                                             pecking
                                 at the hardened crust
                                      to find a meal.

     And I stare
                         at the absence of humanity
and uncourageous spirits
                                         who hide indoors
     resigned
                         to take this
                    cold, harsh beating
                      without a fight.

     And I stare
                  into a bank of whiteness
becoming blind
                                 with indescription
                                              and anger
     wishing we could build snowmen again.

     And I stare
          until this sheet of ice
                becomes the
                       blanket of false snowfalls
on the living room table
                            nestled artfully beneath
                 the Christmas village.

We construct happy winter cities
                       of Victorian memories that
                                                      we never had
             with pristine houses
             and carolers and sledders
             taken out of boxes
                              all perfect and smiling...

if only...
          if only...
                     if only... I could take him out of his box
and set him here....


     And I stare
                        at the absence of humanity...

praying
I will have the strength
                                      of a blade of grass.

Sometimes the meds aren't enough,
When I’m trying to fall asleep at night.
And I keep seeing the same thing pass behind my eyes,
Memories and dreams of years past by.

I feel my eyelids start to close,
Before they come round again.
My chest feels heavy,
My head feels light.

A concert, four peach colored walls,
A red flower and a silent pose.
Two cups, both half drunk,
An uncourageous half dead rose.

**** I can’t sleep tonight,
But the meds are kicking quick.
If I close my eyes,
Will it be worth the risk?

And I keep going back and forth inside my head
Of all the things you said and did
And I wonder if this is what I want again?
Am I just setting myself up for more hurt?
When all I ever wanted from you was tenderness and honesty
But you can't ignore who someone really is
I am blindsided and uncourageous
I want a you who is not you who could never be you the you I made up
The you I loved and love  
Now I understand that you were only ever a ghost
I can't touch I can't reach I can't hold