Dirt eyes disbelieve the sane
the machines of new age are giving me earaches.
Can we be or must we stand in line at a grocery store
glancing at a magazine?
Words such as “kolnidur” and “fuck it” swimming through our ear cavities.
Explanations of nothingness.
Strumming of a guitar clashing with sounds streaming through plastic megaphones.
St. Peter is frowning down from heaven at the two free minds of a century lost.
So bare down the pain of grief and lady parts
and we will find a new meaning for saving.
Capturing our comrades’ souls in single black and white frames.
While tasting victory with years old seasoning.
The flag of a perverted nation held tight in irony creating beauty.
Minds focused on having love and being loved and fighting love.
With everything in us, we strangle our mothers and gun down our fathers.
We shout HALLELUJAH GOD! Bring your heavens down to earth but forget that we are actually a part of them.
WE ARE THE SAVIORS, WE ARE A NATION!
Can you hear the guns shooting us down for loving chicks and playing with our dicks?
We will bring the new age beat to beat the meat head.
Now my country men, go to bed.
One nation under a god we killed.
No god in a nation we destroyed.
Grease lined streets and puddles of urine, we live in a dystopia that we created.
That we embrace. And we pride ourselves in dying for hell.
Can you hear the marching of silence or the sirens of night?
Can you miss the lights of dying stars or feel the hands of God?
Are we missing unattainable righteousness or settling for faith?
Will we keep misguiding our seeds or finally burn the story lines from the nimrods and ancestors?
Gold laced tears bleed from cliche eyes as our hats are pulled over our mangled faces.
Isn’t there anyone who can save us from what we are born into?
Pulled from the womb by Satan himself, the first we can do is cry
as the tips of our dicks are cut and we are thrust into an eternal shiver.
Under the covers, deep in the sheets there is a girl who still can’t sleep.
Her eyes are glued to nothing and her mind is cramping her body.
She is drenched in grains of sand, reading the curly haired man’s poetry.
Now she knows, she understands, every cared breath is written on my hand.
Alcohol in our veins. Nonsense in our brains.
Our heads explode from computer screen glow.
I think of only third story bedrooms and the secret love we make
as we tap dance our way to unexpected hugs and hatred from your father.
Am I disgusted or in love with some short haired memory,
with getting graceful blow jobs or the bliss of the smell of gun fire?
Sample my shame with tainted lips.
Give me near life love and fall asleep in unforgettable, forbidden places.
Scared and bloody people crowded under church steeples.
Writing songs for the messiah of the damned.
They lift their voices in adoration to the air, not knowing that’s all that is hearing them.
They wait for the doubt to build up and tear through the curtain of their worldview.
My generation is finding perfection in peripheral sight.
Finding glory during my days of animation and masturbation.
Their generation is full of filth and assholes.
And shallow be my name for thy kingdom cum is filling up baby cousin’s hole.
Cocks strummed blindly burrowing holes deep into our bellies
with unplanned babies being sent to hell because of daddy’s wishes.
May you lower your anchor of un-pure intentions into the vagina of the women I love
and cut off my tie to the world after mine.
Find ties in broken lies that are causing my unthinkable sighs.
Threading my hips to your cloth,
for there is no going back on our past affair.
Nothing is regretted in space or time, for every word spoken is a word I can barely say.
Every knot ripping my stomach away.
Every constant shiver or blinking eye reminds me of the growth of truth between our intertwining bind.
Your’s is mine and I am giving you recycled beliefs to finally take love from time.
Jealous thoughts crowd my mind like street markets
as you think of a neckless brother who once shocked your body.
With benefits still on his mind, he reminds you of your physical beauty
in hopes to keep you around his middle finger which he sends my way.
I am a stepping stone to be walked on by mother.
I am a breading ground for my lover.
I am leaving, spitting on your body, ridding of fear
and celebrating with a festival of friends.
Bodies laying in the reservoir after being slaughtered in the name of the Lord.
We look down from the mountain top as the stench fills our nostrils.
I turn to face the one I follow and puke up everything that had been shoved down my throat.
I see the holes in God’s hands and see straight through the unjust genocide.
I see the beloved Mahatma Ghandi with his head blown to bits.
The poor bastard was more Jesus than Jesus himself.
I am the slaughter house, chewing down the hearts of prophets.
Can we share differences and capture tri-colored flags?
Manufacturing men to beat down brown skin kittens and smirk at our proud red velvet cake.
Am I happy? I am untouchable when you are reaching for gold.
Filling plastic cups to the brim with blood that airs the head,
I sink into the grim and filth of the bathroom floor.
With my head resting on the piss stained toilet seat,
I see my lovers hair on the sink and try to fight the urge to sleep.
A town built for hospital beds.
Walk your cattle and feed your pleasure pain.
No name townie man, carrying stenches of over used clothes and reused needles.
I am a wealthy flower and your a pricking your horny bush on my teeth.
Joy is found in a pullout coffin where we soon will pass through to the afterlife
as skeletons embrace my body and kiss my face.
They tear the flesh from my bones and free me of the cage I have created.
Lost hope is found again as I climb into my endless grave.
Where is my back?
Itching the relief of tanning beds and clown face.
I am waiting to be paid for love,
and you are waiting to fall in love.
Atomic warfare at the end of the world.
A candle burning on my shitty kitchen table.
Our undying thirst for flesh and money will forever go unceasing
until we have destroyed everything we are trying to gain.
Johnny Appleseed is playing naughty under a maple tree.
Leaving a tale for Grandfathers and Uncles to sing.
We are ashamed.
But don’t think twice when I tie blue ribbons into bows and walk down the same road.
And the window shows me the world.
Photos of fools, little cupid girl, and the boy and mother rubbing backs.
Bleeding lungs, obscure Jewish boy singing a song
and nothing is undone for there is true love.
From the endless creations of unbeaten poets.
