I want to burn it all
The filth. The scum.
The self absorbed.
The haughty. The vain.
The rich. The sin.
Category Archives: the gods are crazy
The Antihero
I am the undrank cheer
and the spilled champagne
Of the New Year’s promises
that wind up supine, dead
Solvitur Ambulando
This is my journey
To this goddamn place
I pace just behind the edge
Or at least what’s left of me
This, my purgatory
My paradox
My gathering
My reckoning
Born Shy
I live on the wrong glassy frosted frame side
Of a Norman Rockwell doctor visit painting
And the museum security staff roping it off
Honeycomb Pageantry
Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots
Armistice
Work is just a nervous glance, and a .357 under the desk
And the wafting smoke snaking out from bosses’ mouths
Memorialize this armistice between slave and charioteer
Between the elite few riding and the multitudes run down
It’s Not All Doom And Gloom
Cops push out addicts
Living under bridges
Then talk them down
From jumping off them
Suicide rates are jumping
But it’s not all bad news
At least the stock market
Reached another high
Runaway Trains
There’s this divide
Thirty seconds wide
Trillions of commercials long
Most everyone I have ever met
Want to save the planet
While filling up with gas
Or vote to save the environment
But refuse to leave their cars
Turn Out The Lights
Somewhere the party never stopped
Somewhere the 7th floor of the Sheraton
in Madison, Wisconsin is still shaking its head
Gathering its tables and chairs up from outside
Somewhere there are still packed music venues
With sweaty teenagers hanging on every note
By just word of mouth and zero promotion
Somewhere the ice cream man ain’t talkin bout love
My Slaughter
My love is an abattoir
And if my heart was glass
Nobody would ever come in
If you are brave enough to look
You’d see the carnage of my intention
Splattered across bedroom floors
Weltschmerz
My inside pulled out heart
Is a 300 gram autobiography
Broken, bleeding and revealing
Systolic wars and diastolic peace
Beats between nausea and hope
Scrawled in my lost arrhythmia
Like the cadence of a rainstorm
The Philosopher’s Stone
He was born in a small town
A cave to be exact
Birthed in scrawled glyphics that created a club then a bat
Forged some fire later the match
Centuries tatter later
Found work as a compass
Navigating maps
Eventually went to college
Studied biology minored in math
Got straight A’s in physics
Graduated cum laude
Took his first real job
As an atomic bomb
He was let go
Mountain Mettle
Mountain don’t give a fuck
Way up there we must appear
Like nests of rustling ants and ticks
Scurrying about everywhere
Making jobs, lies and politics
The Tigress Awakens 