Thursday, March 30, 2017

movements of self

In visions of charging wolves
And the fetishization of being eaten by them—
Beating wings press against an afternoon sun
And I am cutting people off in traffic

“they’re fucking idiots.”
No idea where they are.
Lost in the woods.
circuits and synapse
Dreaming of the jungles
Where these people are torn apart by wild animals

As man and machine fused into one
Patiently sitting, frozen in stupidity
They fade behind me
a collective and pointless memory

as a dream of some foreign entity
crawling across the sky
thunderbolts descending
into a silent, merciless wasteland
as some erupting proclamation

bring life to these empty places
ignite the fires of imagination
awaken them in these times
within concepts of credibility

in time and in rhythm
a rolling thunder in the distance
 as water begging to fall
as insatiable thirst

as if bloodlust for the kill
hunger for knowledge and spirit
running down some exhausted elk
like violent wreckage on the side of the road

in dreams they come
repetitively scrolling
between past and future
living the nightmare of prescience
rendered within innumerable teeth
the impossible jaws of time
gnawing away at every facet of being  

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