Silent Speech

a broken shard of charcoal

will it prove enough to make a man?

when you fold into submission
sighting inference of slight
exacting of your ego’s wrath
upon those thought to interfere

we are all born hypocrites
and so it is that we shall perish

rue the day this truth desists
and pride usurps devised discretion

trumpeter of shadowed triumph
sowing seeds of condemnation
woven with such ornate bombast

propped up by a hollow victim
ever to avail their own

bleeding hearts
are blind with succor

leaving truth to fates unknown

tragedies will find appointment
at the behest most emphatic
negligently inundating
standers-by with self-accord
unafforded
sordid with a dubious deliberation

sortie of self-indulgence

nevermind the sadist fallout
calling out in silent woes

left behind to mind the mayhem
bearing eyes of the observer
patient, with a prudent penchant

knowing time
reveals all

And It Was Hell

the dearth of this illusion
lay upon me
like a bed of nails

bleed into the earth below
as heaven turns the other cheek

seven days have made me weak
as stars conclude
“and it was hell”

sinning in the furnace
with a grimace
of god’s grace

forced into a servitude
that no madness
would call for

prefacing the death
that only leads to life anew

on the surface we are left
to toil by our devices

waging wars against the conscience
absent as the soul

Omega Man Rap

at times when feeling ‘noir
it pains’ me deeply
and i wish to obscure
my ‘sexier pons’

my ‘cat id irony’
fails to suffice
for ‘rarely it’ ‘insists i belie’
my ‘equine data’
and the ‘bicep alias
it’ no longer works

when ‘stoic ideas’ become ‘ornate libel’
i turn ‘to repine sunsets’

airing as ‘funded glib’ ‘pelt art’
‘erred as’ a ‘cynic soul opus’
of ‘incredible sin’

however ‘spurious
trite’ i pray it not

for ‘i toil in gray’ skies
to ‘escort earth’ with ‘hemp at rose’

to deliver a ‘cad edited’ ‘cat encomium’
and ‘obtain focus’
so that i may ‘convert pities’
from ‘scour units’ and ‘Soviet barons’

because ‘grease enables’
‘tin men to impale’ the ‘rift outed’
by my ‘Scorpio intent’

*see comments for key

Kinda Sounds Like Discourse~ [AKA Vice Rod]

what can i say

i want the D

never had i dared to dream

this day would come

with thoughts of the D

running through my mind
like a Benny Hill credits roll

you see
the D is a most powerful force

it springs life anew
and mitigates longstanding burdens

it cleaves entire entities in twain
and leaves chaos in its wake

but in that fluster
of blustery skies and structure askew

i shall rise triumphant
brandishing the proof of the D
for all to behold

she proved herself
prone to imprudence
and impetuous impulse

and so began my arduous journey
in search of the D

for i knew
that my very salvation

could only begin

with a solidified D in hand

wait wait wait!

~what did you think i meant?~

pervert.

Flat-Screens and Powdered Milk x8

These are the Sundays of dolor and dinge in which none dare to dream.  Where the ceiling hangs low, like a slow-falling sky from which i cannot escape.  Warped cardboard held up by sagging strands of weathered packaging tape dangle overhead full of dust and debris.  Much like the threads of tinsel that snag on the splintered doorway as its once proud conifer is dragged out to be laid to rest alongside an 85″ flatscreen that couldn’t be much older than a year.

Why is there such a proliferation of discarded oversized TVs in these downtrodden residential areas? Are my neighbors truly that transfixed by the endless stream of palpable horrors that seep into their surrendered subconscious?  Or did they finally see one too many commercials jauntily pressuring them to call: “♫Cellino & Barnes ♪ Injury Attorneys – eight hun-dred eight-eight-eight ♫ eight-eight-eight-eight♪”?  I mean, seriously, that many fucking eights?  Could that shit sound any more ridiculous? Probably.  Either way, if it drove someone to banish their TV to the curb, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then again, it might have been a case similar to the time i left my miniature die-cast airplane on top of the living room TV [bear in mind that these were the old-school TVs and thus, were shaped like a box].  After which,  my mother came along attempting to place a full glass of lemonade directly on top of said plane, causing it to spill into an electric fizzle-pop of frayed television circuitry.  I was forever given shit for that.  What I want to know is who in the fuck goes around placing overflowing beverages on top of TVs, to begin with?  Nevermind the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to so much as look to ensure there was a stable surface, to begin with. Honestly, that about sums up my family’s sense of logic.

Back then, appliances weren’t yet condemned to the 6-month forced obsolescence that seems to pervade the market nowadays, so it was a bit of an outrage to have been the one “responsible” for having murdered the one source of entertainment in the entire household.  Not to mention the fact that we were poor as fuck.  I’m pretty sure we were on welfare or had received food stamps or some such form of governmental assistance.

I do recall being very young and going to some strange building with my mother in which she was given a large two-pound brick of cheese wrapped in white plastic with big, bold lettering that said something like: “U.S. CHEESE.”  It kind of tasted like regular cheese, only if someone had siphoned out most of the flavor and color.  And don’t even get me started on powdered milk.  Talk about an affront to gastronomic convention.  I can only imagine what they put those cows through to get them to produce powder…

I have to wonder though, how many people have their childhood memories destroyed by the realization that they or one of their siblings had been molested by some depraved uncle or family “friend.”  Judging from what I’ve seen, at least as many people that have watched TV at some point in their lives.

As it turns out, we’re all living in an unfolding episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.  Perhaps now I know why all those giant-screened TVs have been put out to pasture.  When your life actually becomes the tragic storyline that once kept your family entertained it loses its appeal I suppose.  And I don’t seem to hear any jaunty jingles directing me to call their law offices so they can help to prosecute our abusers.

 

Wanton Predilection

men dare never fathom
of the consequences wrought
in the wake of their ego’s reckless abandon

perhaps it is they know
if such truth were ever sought
they might not feel free to spread their seed at random

for theirs is such a burden
placed upon all womankind
as its sole regard is one based on passing whims

where women take the time
to consider each perspective
a man relates all things back to himself

every woman suffers
at the hand of man’s neglect
though the issues omnipresence e’er obscures

and here we are complacent
thinking this to be the norm
that no credence e’er is paid to our adjures

a man’s flagrant hypocrisy
so garish does it blare
to the point that we no longer recognize it

as women are subjected
to the scrutiny and ire
and are thus condemned to sentences of silence

with all that has been done
every man should build a shrine
at which every night he should beg for forgiveness

but sadly, people scoff
thinking this a vulgar thought
and it seems our species somehow lost its conscience

if man could look beyond
the defenses he has built
in the name of guarding insecurity

to address the endless wrath
he has lain upon his path
and accept his own responsibility

then we might stand a chance
in a world so full of doubt
on this precipice of humankind’s extinction

but all that i have seen
the male ego is as such
it’s beholden to its wanton predilection