Tuesday, November 2, 2010


Billowing smoke peels
from the place you called home
Running mascara plays out
the predictable storyline

Each empty promise, a landmine
that you stupidly plodded over

 to hear from some imperial parchment
Imagining what your bloodline
means to a virus

The rolling hills burn
in the reflection
of your tear-laden eye
Under the waves where
your gods cannot swim
Within the divine wind
that blows glitter in your face
always pronounced
in the secondary language 
through the embers
the tendrils of influence
bloom like the hand-grenades
that devastated your pitiful artistic license

…and those who swore to protect
fell like flittering prayers
carried off by the vacant breath
tell me of your black diamonds
the excavation of your known depths
in which I learned to saunter
like the dark megatropolis   
because the black kites of your originality
were copied, thoughtlessly

I shattered your mask
with the same wrecking ball
cowards pushed you out for
and you know to tighten your abs
because it will never be
as vulnerable as your sloppy candy

tell me of bushido, of the way
how honor trumps brutality
it cannot stop the assassins
that linger in my mind


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