Tuesday, July 25, 2017

hooker eyes

This image of tiny, thin childish limbs through the crowd
grabbing it with deference, beating me to my half-hearted attempt
her eyes looked like an animal in clouded amber
this hippie child. Shoeless and filthy
reverent and resolved, throwing herself to her knees before me
snatching up that huge dusty cricket
casting a dirty hand down upon the creature
between meaning and curiosity
vanishing into a desert of memory

this idea of mechanized  technology
rising through azure banners
chains writhing and stretching
wings treacherously spread as dark fingers across the sky
as a ruthlessness that never tires
in triumphs of self
become the corrupted and the corruption
like hookers eyes vacantly looking  
into nothing of significance

this feeling of failure
pours into me like a hull breach
Erodes the enamel of my will where loyalties evaporate
through various lenses
a symphony of savagery takes hold
playing out the story of my past transgressions
where so little seeks recognition
save for the grace of time
refracting us apart into possibility.

this dream of the future
I once held
foreign and distant
Like a long awaited goal that I once believed  
as a trail into dry and hostile mountains
what sort of man have I become?
bearing teeth and talons at all opposition
shedding feathers and words dismissively
as mind frames of collapsing catacombs

this hatred boiling up inside of me
galvanized in rage and hunger
primal in that way that I cannot relent
burning as a wildfire that obliterates everything I once felt for others
in amphetamines and squalor
how broken I feel when I look upon those eyes
how disappointed I have become to the illusion of myself  
& they look upon me as if I am the rising sun
to grant some kind of salvation

this memory of another era
Essentially simple and yet sedated
laced in breathy words and sweat
Panting out all the echoes of what I have been
exacerbated in the marks of flesh and endurance
disposed of as wretched machinery
in the wake of some greater monument
As the objects of becoming
render my soul in shards

this subtle power pulsating outward
into the earth and trees and minds
sensitive and hardening
gripping and addictive
overwhelming in its implications
leaving me so bastardized and alone
flavored in sensations of power
viscerally unforgiving
to the blindness that represents man   

this unrelenting state
fetishizing my unedited self
delving man and mind without hesitation
defending belief and innocence
in deft strokes and actions
are they but simulacrum?
Seeking to emulate this, ability
I would watch a pit a of men
beat each other to death and feel nothing

This future that spreads before me
met with resistance
How they must sense my desire to control them
Yet, they resist in their way
unable to grasp what that reality holds
in terms of precognition
deeply yearning
for the simplicity
of a child chasing bugs










Saturday, July 15, 2017

Nothing of forgiveness


It feels like the slight drag before a blade cuts flesh

In diligence I rend the fat from meat

Articulation separating sinew from product.

Where there is nothing more savage than grace



Held together in the tensions

Dreaming of the cannibalization of self

how worn these monuments have become

as tattered flags



pollution fraying the fabric of my banner

forgetfully injecting value in disdain

a sweeping landscape where I outlast

in silent relentless triumph



more perfectly synergized it cannot be unlearned

remaining inherent in its discipline

like an arid desert landscape

that knows nothing of forgiveness.