muzzle artists [written 6.23.2015]

increasingly weary of muzzle artists and sayers of all things NAY, while our scant universe is ever given over to a very seemingly puckered version of an intellectual desert. and, refrain from telling me just how one version of fodder differs from another. we all feed something.

and I missed the pageant of the planets, 

while securing my place among the upper echelon of the obscure. 

a fully medicated and tenuous position to be sure. 

the ground is not where you tread before.

it is not our fucking world anymore.

and we missed the point of the planet,

while waiting for the firmament to swoon for us.

like placing our children in the jaws of Cerberus.

guilty of breaking the blockade of grief,

reason usurping the very nature of belief.

so, the cobwebs and the relinquishment of control may just have a name after all.  nothing to do with the King's English, or any syllable known. it's a language of twitches and sneers and imposed acceptance. it's a dialect of passive disaster. 

Distortion Oil [written 7.2.2015 -7.10.2015]

there was a terrible split chord that shattered it all. just after the blackout. a minor screech, followed directly by a major scoff. we do not live to provide the template of a reverse plot. and, even less can be expected of the cracks in the clouds. slit that fucking moon like there was a dotted line right down the center, then pretend you were designed askew. smile jagged and decline crooked. let the gaping grave be your grin, just to prove a point. someone stuck an acorn in the gears & we lost a million fathoms we'll never get back. jittery is not the answer, but it'll do in a pinch. there's a treacherous debris field surrounding the better judgement of humanity. so thwart your foul orbit. despite the hyperbole of chance, you can choose your own impact. slick your hands with distortion oil, while we sift through the pieces. perhaps be a magnet for the miasma. perhaps a plague of vernacular? last phantom of desperate climes and faulty incense; the hiss of the more savvy gears beneath the objections. vault the theorem of the enemy horde and shed the scales. mix the quickness of the sideways smirk with the arrogance of the shieldwall. dread the seriousness that this farce hides. suspect the obfuscation. the lords convalesce, despite decrepitude of the system. the fringe will wait while the avatar of the major commodity distinguishes the spoil from the need. 

colloidal severance pay [4.14.2015]

set the fucking alarm!
wake up, do no harm!
no need to go berzerk!
you're doing god's work!

through the lies and through the glare,
through the acres of broken trust,
through tears of those fucked unaware, 
and, through fake fears we must
realize that the horror can be controlled!

we've been fired. not by Congress, nor Nature. not by empathy and, most certainly, not by mythical statistics. 

  

REPURPOSED [6.23.2015]

I take this pain in my head, and I repurpose it as vehemence.  I ball up my culpability like yellow cake & save it for a rainy day. I am the other shoe awaiting the inevitable impact. I am the designated asshole. I am physics at its worst, and I drag the moon into my business. I am the blackboard, and I am the screech of errant chalk. I take this "sudden but eventual betrayal" and repurpose it as kindling. I am the scrapings from your favorite thing to scrape. I am the squint derived from an unscratchable itch. I am the looking glass through which you fall. I am the six feet of earth you need to remove from your grave. I am the tiny bubble in your IV, unfortunately. I make a fist and leave my apologies in the space within. I am the Ace Of Spades that falls through the grate. I am the bump on your log. I am the left hand in the warm water. I am the space in which you crawl. I vomit my guilt into your kitchen sink and wipe my mouth with your secrets. I fucking hate everything, and everything fucking hates me. and I repurpose that scorn into a viable fuel source called sustainable vitriol.