I Prefer Not To.
to awaken
into death
is the dream
none dare brandish
listless, heavy-lidded
landslide
in somnolous languor
beholden to the mercy
of a cursed blink
and the blinding
of our blackest truth
laid out
to die
before us
[image credit: Francisco de Goya]
politics are a deplorable pastime
comprised of deceit, propaganda, and tyranny
bands of backhanded obsequious sycophants
falsely commanding our homelands through villainy
such disingenuousness is repugnant
a word i purloined from a Garbage Pail Kid
that those so disgraceful could be so indignant
in light of the scandalous things that they did
and they did, you better believe that shit’s true
and like pawns we allow it through cognitive bias
it sickens me to imagine me and you
enabling all these notorious liars
but they are proactive in their preparation
by keeping the public sect preoccupied
with such utterly insignificant refuse
which fools are so feverishly wont to abide
the power they brandish is born of the weakness
that people succumb to which works without fail
beholden to spurious trappings of ego
nefarious plots regularly prevail
meanwhile, as poverty levels are peaking
privileged white men mendaciously collude
sheepishly ploying whilst safely partitioned
the subjects of their subjugation, subdued
with media pandering disinformation
to desperate masses as malleable as clay
susceptible to psychological swaying
while of the impression they have any say!
and then there are those of religious-borne zealotry
doggedly-obstinate, self-righteous drones
so all-consumed by their fervid delusions
they willfully wreak what cannot be atoned
supinely supplying their supplicant services
ready to die in the name of their god
devoted to repopulating the planet
by heedlessly spreading their seed’s bane abroad
religion and politics closely relate
in that they both facilitate social disparity
granting the breadth of wealth, knowledge, and power
to less than one fucking percent of humanity!
if such things sit well with you, be on your way
for i haven’t the time to expend on futility
i won’t commit to conferring with crusaders
hell-bent on exacting hell-borne realities
[image credit: Unknown]
i waft along
this cloud of dust
in empty clement skies
a drusy sun sets
streaks of ruby
citron fire
reach on across the land
like lonely nights
in soft sahara
the mountains gain a shade of haze
as echoing winds whisper
with the stoic cries of crickets
in a muted droning lull
twilight bends
beyond eye’s edge
the deepest blue lapis sets in
contentedness
we once possessed
lies trapped behind the silent veil
no map had e’er descried
through layers of lamenting torment
seething of her phantom cilice
ceaseless
in a listless cause
of indolent demise
[image credit: Bud Duncan]
if you
kill me now
i won’t complain
i will not make a sound
i cross my heart
and hope to die
if only
in your arms
[image credit: Harry Clarke]
sink beneath
the sand of sorrows
hallowed catacombs
await
mortal tombs
hold treasures borrowed
sown into
the desert’s wake
time exists
in every tense
with all dimensions
coalescing
ancient tomes
foretell the future
shifting
in between dimensions
drift from ending
to beginning
softly
silent suns are setting
as we shed
our sacred secrets
into the abyss of freedom
i swear to you
if one more fucking ant crawls on me
i will lose it
what the fuck
has led them here
i haven’t any food to forage
where the fuck
could they have come from
and why will they not go away
how the fuck
has this become the state
of my reality
every step i take
to rid my humble home
of their invasion
somehow summons twice as many
more determined than before
jesus fucking christ
it’s just an ant
how then could it have wrapped
its tiny jaws around my flesh
with such a force for me to feel it
i am but a pacifist at heart
but this incessant onslaught
pesters me beyond the point
of patience and composed demeanor
fuck, i’ll just be honest
their assault has taken quite a toll
i’m hesitant to tell you
of the murderous thoughts
in my head
if not that, then suicide
is fast becoming ever likely
of course, then they would dine upon
my listless corpse
and i won’t have it
even if i stood for hours
smashing every one that came
they would keep appearing
in exacerbated states of ardor
maybe if i went online
to search for homemade bomb instructions
i could build one big enough
to halt their heedless hordes
last time, when i took such measures
all was said and done
no sweat
granted, at that time the circumstances
were far less horrific
it was just a wayward group
of eight jehova’s witnesses
they refused to leave me be
oh yeah, and then those missionaries
mailmen, and that meter reader
let me get back to my point
this siege will not allow for nonsense
since you asked
the answer’s no
i’m not concerned with my new neighbors
church of scientology
whatever in the flying fuck it was they called it
all i really care about
is blowing up those fucking ants
if it should happen others perish
so be it
i can’t be bothered
really
that’s on them
that they were living
as much as it is for their death
shit, i wouldn’t be surprised
if they had been responsible
for sending all these ants to get me
for some fiendishly clandestine reason
oh my fucking god
it’s true
and now i’ve got more work to do
those bastard scientologists
are going to have a blast
and much like it was in the past
i will be the last one standing
bellowing the biggest laugh
thy faintest contour
stole away
my consciousness of mind
the gods had draped me
in a realm
of excess exquisite
chests indulged
of selenite did slough
with bare refulgency
merging strikes
barbaric heaving
maleness
manacled in chainmail
criminal
didst cup constrictive
summoned heat
from sweetened friction
visceral
precipitant
banded strands
stretched tenuously
strung with statuesque erecting
flesh of cryptid cusp
and blustered hue
imbrued from brusque abrade
strapping
with a sturdiness
to beckon vice
from days of yore
swore studly forms
of ardent study
hours long and arduous
Sir Nicolaus! i cry
what thoughts besiege
my frail composure
compromised by rippled
thew with pulse of potent impose
ecstasy encompassing
his sexton arm’s saxon embrace
brandishing a brawn
to render
every knave his pawn of privy
lash thy leather-laden fury
leash mine impure soul
with haste!
douse me
in thy verse
triumphant
trenchant
as the lunar blade
bathing in thy
breathless inquest
trouncing
like a bison herd
at the hour
of forbidden dusk
hoarding hesitation
forming sedulous
below
shouldst thy barren breast
e’er hover
skies of supple
silk embed
the flames of brooding
wouldst impend
with trilling prod
of importune
like surging wells
on crescent shores
imploring swords
of sowed release
lonesome rogues
dealt swift
a sweltered
sun of melting
auric fleece
bound like mured barbarians
gone mad
with torturous vexation
strident thrusts
of jutting bulge
and urgent bender
banned by lawmen
turgid girth swoons
swathing growth
doth ghastly
fill tumescent eye
pinning this supine
confliction
to a bed of fallow dross
O my precious Nicolaus
let us not fall
remiss
like pistils
sifted into dusted dreams
of lust lamented
let us now succumb
to rubble
amid subtle
swells combusting
~fini~
a kitty cat’s grooming is always suspicious
this truth i have analyzed over the years
the agony of aggregate clumps cilicious
alludes to an aeluroid aspect most queer
consider the context of when they commence
and a pattern conspicuous soon is revealed
as subsequent to an embarrassing moment
they feign nonchalance as a means to conceal
which is quite ironic, for as we all know
cats are nothing if not the vanguards of aloofness
yet, somehow they are so acutely self-conscious
regarding their state of inferable smoothness
of course, this technique is applied other places
like when you so heedlessly trample right past them
the shock and appall of an affront so tasteless
will spur such a groom nearing self-mutilation
and don’t you dare think to presume consolation
for all of your pleas stand to fall on deaf fur
their tail tells the tale of availed indignation
no chin scratch on earth could elicit a purr
on some rare occasions, debris might affix
to their feline in such a way barring removal
in these times their grooming airs slow and deliberate
as they give their all to appear as though casual
at times i have pondered, if not for their shame
would not their fine coats fall into disrepair
it’s fortunate that we stand only to gain
when cats most emphatically feign not to care
slumber
of saffron
and fuschia
release me
beyond
the bleak desert wall
ceaselessly arid
desiccant seascapes
secluded by sand-chime
soft planes
prohibit
a treason
of privy
siphoning sweat
by the swelter
of swoon
only a midsong
of autumnal tertian
daring descrier
could fly by the borage
brandishing
brushed silhouettes
kissed with sopor
lulling the languishing
planet in spirals
petaline prosody
cistern imbrued
weft in wisteria
wand of Levant
let the Vellela wind
wend you my way
withhold
and i will
most willingly wither
awaiting
on solemn
shore’s wallow
awash
[image credit: Claude Monet]
i could hide
for a hundred
thousand years
and still emerge
with the same spectrum
of debilitating fears
avoidance does nothing
to avail our evolution
for the breadth of our experience
carries on in our dearth
and distant earths
may yet reveal
our present form unknown
nonetheless
a consciousness
cannot eclipse
its own immortality
for all eternity
and yet . . .
[image credit: Fumihiro Kato]
Max, or Not 
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