Scopolamine Politics

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]

Singing Sand

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]

Unspoken Sorrow

who dare maintain
these mournful maladies

façades
of fickle affectation

freedom
is a heart sworn sleeve

bleeding out
its cryptic truths

alas, we all must strive
for prudence

taking only what we need

for heedless hearts
shall leave no remnants

carelessly
consuming all

’til come the day
of tempest calling

skies of weary shoulders fall

with nothing more
than hollow secrets

ashes
lining beds of dirt

writhing in eternal anguish

rapt amid unspoken sorrow

[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]

State of Stasis

that’s just it.

when the quality of life
becomes so diminished

that existence itself
becomes prohibitive

when hope is no longer
an option

a privilege

a choice

when the only thing
allowing for continued existence

are dissociative mechanisms
which have reached such a point
in their pathology

that it bastardizes
every tool
with which one needs to simply function

at the most fundamental level.

all one can do

is to not.

to not live.

i need to die.

but i do not want to die.

this much is absolute.

[image credit: František Kobliha]

Within Her

she stepped from the amaranth sky
of eclipsed moon

roseate wreath
wrapped in petaline plight

wandering winds
of familiar requiem

wafting bouquets
bearing dreams deliquescent

long has her linger
allayed my heart’s anguish

surrendered to waves
of an unwitting ardor

peridot drips
into amethyst druse

in these subtle striations
of our intertwining

without her 
i fold into prisms
of chaos

within her
transpires the depths
of my soul

 

[image credit: Frantisek Kobliha]

Compendium

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

When Quietude Becomes Us

we dream
to die

in this ring
of death

breathing in
our own entropy

like drunken druids

sinking past
the florid infirm

as floor
turns to fig leaf

and celestite settles

no more
shall we fret

when quietude
becomes us

Measures More Than Justified

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

Ode to Nicolaus-of-the-Sun

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~