if we ever could

every bruise
      shines
a hue
        unique
      to the
    turmoil
which it was
      created.

every eye
       reflects
the blight
   it endures.

every cut
is
   different
than
       the last.

the scars
     range
in depth
and value,
but still
    they are
    wounds.

we hold
    every
       injury
         the same...
taste the
flashing pain
with which
it was inflicted...

and yet
     we dance
              again.

What Change May Come

Let's get something straight.
The Environment isn't the problem.
The Economy isn't the problem.
Gay rights isn't the problem.
Racism isn't the problem.

We are the problem.

Our numbers, our attitudes, our complacency;
that's the problem.

We can accredit this to our lack of future.
When we no longer see hope, our vision dims,
we become careless and angry. We take out
our frustrations on the world.
When we are but one voice shouting, the hope
dwindles, and we forget our place in the world.

But it is that single voice that calls out,
that inspires other voices to call out
to quicken the pace of change.

Slavery ended with one voice.

Equality happened with one voice.

Wars end, and peace begins
with
        just
               one
                      voice.

We can make a better world
if only we would speak up.

penance

i.
   run me ragged blind
in through this
alone
as has been
and shall always be
by an undetermined fate
swept across,
long and leering
through this infinite jest
concocted of a vast emptiness
like no other
since time's ruthless
construct,
bound and dipped into
the broth of life,
timid and tearful
without escape
except for
only
        death
and quiet, reckless abandon.

ii.
   most luscious love,
bind me
with your tired gaze
in the haze
of fleeting moments
         not unlike
                 the minutes
we share
and tear
         away this reckoning
from withered limbs
where time's construct
begins
           and ends
with a fateful twist,
vertically along the wrists,
for there is no other time
as now.

iii.
   dearly demented,
                                hold onto
forever
             as a rose to its thorns
and mourn the grieving,
deceiving eyes,
devouring
                  our moments
not unlike the minutes we share
in lucid despair
closed off,
                  congealed
where we have healed
                                     over
from the scars and scabs,
keeping tabs
                     on sweet
                                    desolation.

iv.
   the decomposed and drowned
             for rancid revelations
                            revealed
             dementia;
                         dreary and draped
             in woeful tongues_;
   each minute
                       the last_;
   every second
                         its own unique torture.

v.
   the second hand
           ticks and tocks
upon weary clocks
the hour is at hand,
                                beaten
             hand
                  by beaten hand
until the gears
           are naught
                    but rot.

click away the downtrodden
into tiny flecks of disposable
pieces: revealed as
bent and pent beggars
beguiled,
                bellowing
                                 bombs
at the sun. unheard to deaf ears.

bent beggars
                     bound by time
in a timeless exchange
hand by hand,
beaten by the beating clock.

vi.
   sweetly
                tormented
         repenting for sins
                   yet conceived,
    relieved of this
                   tearful, tempting woe
and gleeful incompetence
     belittled by spikes through
     clenched fists
                 and torn tongues
           too scabbed over
                        to speak
of the nature of the beast
   that tries mightily to
       devour the
                   sour
                     blood and bones
of the illuminated
              shone bright by the
     shadow of its skin
         and the sin
              yet not conceived.

vii.
   drown not the
               weary in sickness
nor deceit
         or let them fall
             tumbling
                       to parched earth
cracked by careless fists
            and bellowing sun.

O' for the water runs cold
                     in this
particular corner of
                              HELL.

lit alone

the world is
falling                                   apart
around me.
the pukes are                        puking.
the fucks are                        fucking.
the design             is in             time
                  with      the            static
    and       the    souls    are    erratic
absorbed into,  drawn into,    alone.


it is as it is another day another drag

it is as it is
                  another day
                                      another drag

it is
       as it
               is
a blanket of neurosis.
psychotic, symptomatic.
there are too many ants in the anthill.
              hallow.
 it is as it is

the current is the future.  the future is past.
drink me dying
drink my dying
this is the future.
the future is bleak.
merry fucking christmas.

some silly love

it's just love.
   give it
      a little tug
and pull some down for
         yourself.
leave a little for
someone else.
   share
if you care.
   give
even if you don't.
it's all
          a small
                      moment,
nothing             more  .
it's just the
                      mind
     working
the                 mind  :
giving   a   certain   something   back
to   a   certain   someone  .
it's   all   in   fun   .
just a little love
for the sake of,
for the need of,
for the want of,
the human condition.
if you want it,
give   it   .

comply

so smooth
she spits fire
like
raindrops
into the eyes
of the audience
awaiting the end times
in a bath of their own
electric
warfare
without a care;
crushing those who would
try to
aspire,
to desire
the tender kisses of midnight
in a flight of fancy
as smoke trails
across the power lines,
she finds
a little something
she left behind
one day
not too long ago,
and she knows
it's just another daydream
in the stream
of a lingering scheme
designed to juristic
and restrict
the ample love
in the eyes that resign
to fire
and flame
in the name of shame
as it lingers upon lips
so divine
they shine with admiration
and violation
through the piss wet pulp
of electric warfare
so as to despair
the glare that
kissed it
upon the cheek
that reddens at the touch,
but not enough
to wipe away
the lingering memories
of the disease
that killed it
once upon at time
by the lips
that kiss
so divine
they had to build a shrine
to the goddess of
electric warfare
called
complacency.

fear the monsters

if you ever
want to see
Darwinism
in action,
watch a street
fight,
watch mob mentality,
watch a riot,
watch a protest
gone wrong.
the monkey comes out.
the primal
lizard brain rears its
scaly head.
it is brutality at its
finest.
every inch
of evolution
drains away,
and we become
the monsters
we are most afraid of.
you will not
have to go far
to find proof of
Darwinian Theory.
turn on your television.
check out a few clips
on YouTube.
hit up the nearest bar.
swing by that
neighborhood
you were always told
to stay away from.
take a tour of your
local
penitentiary.
just wait until
civilization breaks down.
you might get lucky
and find some
compassion,
but mostly,
you will see what
we are all truly
capable of.
you will see
survival of the fittest
for the sake of
survival of the fittest.
it wouldn't take much
for the whole
goddamn
thing to go up in flames.
it wouldn't take long
to destroy
everything we
have worked for.
all you need
is a little
fear.