Era of Remorse

wishes are the whims of wastrels
waiting for the world to turn
upon the drop of faceless dimes
amid a burning empire spurned

timid tales shall move no mountains
mend thy heart by will of mind
ardent kindness fells the wicked
ailing veils of thin disguise

seize the reins of thine oppressor
tyranny reigns not by virtue
if we are to acquiesce to tenets of naught
so becomes truth

heed the words of honored adage
in this era of remorse
lest their greed abscond thy haven
wresting faith through fearful discourse


Telling Vision

in my youth I watched TV
but sadly, none had cared to tell
that it was not reality
and thus, my life has gone to hell
corrupting every moral code
with no second thought to decorum
just as every episode
taught habits for the social forum
shouting loud and slamming doors
why should I have thought this was odd
and storming off with goods unmoored
to steal them in the name of ~god~
flagrantly objectifying
women as the status quo
pathologically lying
to every person that you know
constantly berating fellow humans
brought so many laughs
however, when I tried to do it
people would then kick my ass
sneaking through my neighbor’s yard
in nothing but a ghillie suit
did not fetch the same regard
when fleeing cops in hot pursuit
still, I tried to understand why
my friends cried and told their mothers
when I poked their eyes and ran
I thought that they would laugh and love it
how was I to know that vampires
were not something that existed
just imagine my surprise
that Halloween I was arrested
no one told me using fire
to burn the evidence was useless
nor that sating my desires
was anything other than ruthless
pulling pranks to shame my boss
never quite had the same effect
for every time my job was lost
they branded me a derelict
the doctor didn’t find it funny
when I diagnosed his patients
and absconded with their money
just to fund my cat’s vacation
why is it that all I’d learned
would only seem to spur police
leave the general public spurned
and earn the ire of Catholic priests
acting disingenuous
was all the rage on every show
but people just turned murderous
when I would use the same MO
every single trope
that had taught me the ropes
on television
has since failed me like the time
I groped her and wound up in prison
when I tried to tell the judge
“But on TV it seemed just fine!?”
he wasn’t so inclined to budge
and now I must serve all my time
the bane of capitalist systems
causes damage far and wide
kids left without supervision
so their parents can abide
to that which Jesus most opposed
and though I might not be religious
much like him I don’t condone
a surrogate duly suspicious
children led by such examples
based on worlds of artifice
become far more than we can handle
with real life consequence
how can we punish the actions
fostered by our guided hand
just to furnish a distraction
so we can meet life’s demands
everyone should take a hammer
run it through their TV set
rise up in a Marxist clamor
before things get darker yet
it’s not right that we associate
our sentiments with falsehood
they can’t misappropriate our lives
then try to claim “it’s all good!”

rant of dreams forsaken

In life, we are plagued with many things.
Some serve to compel us forward.
Some, seem only to exist to thwart our pusillanimous progress toward the arbitrary goal of being human.
What on earth is this innate desire to adhere to such ludicrous standards of corporeal existence?
What is this tethering to that which can only be thought of as tormented torturing?

To be able to reasonably anticipate the fate of each moment is a fate worse than death itself.
To know the rhythm of each step.  
The cadence of every footfall.
To know the precise frame of time in which that insidious sliver of seeping sunlight will slip in through the window’s crack to smack you into the oblivion of consciousness.

Beholden to the call of nature’s never-ending reminder that our minds are moored to primal needs to which we must abide.
To know that dreams we hope to reach are ever dangling within our reach on string-bound carrots tied to sticks that sit firmly within the grasp of capitalistic ceremony.
Only to be ripped from our hands as the sky rips off its fleece of sloe that flickered with the promises of worlds we’ve yet to know.
Worlds we once had known.

Our dreams become less reasonable as reason wriggles into our conscious condemnation of the hope we must forgo.
The cost exceeds the measures of the treasures life might show us.

And so, we go from lavish fiction in depictions of our making to the stark and unforgiving scripts seemed written solely to afflict us.
Imprisoned by a temporality that deems our freedom nothing more than fruitless. Scheming to destroy the only things that make this life worth living.

And believe that it’s a given, that regardless of how much we strive to live the lives that linger long in silent songs that writhe in our subconsciousness, we slowly die each time we’re forced to lift our eyelids open.  
To the moment of our hope’s demise, we try to trick ourselves into thinking thoughts in which our dreams aren’t sinking fast like ghostly ships aghast into the vast, dark abyss of bottomless abandon.

So that we might barely subsist.
This is not the life we want.

Dubious portrayals made to convey a fervid fantasy none can achieve lest they bereave their one and only soul’s reprieve by leaving all that could have been. To sleep beneath the silent seas of muted pleas whose surface screams tempestuously with festering feelings of remorse and discontented cries of silent implore.

Born into a life of languishing where anguish rules as king with such an iron fist, the siren’s kiss falls into effigy.
It’s far beyond what’s known as wrong but come the shadow of the dawn we must persist as listless pawns e’er clamoring just to go on.  

For if we were to choose a fate not left effete by our own feet and force ourselves to deviate from what’s accepted and expected we would find ourselves neglected by our peers appearing queer whose scolding sneers and jilted jeers sustain our ever-loving fears of failure as our freedom fades.  As quickly as we can adhere to anhedony-addled tears of consequence beyond compare.

We forsake freedom for the sake of filling holes of corporate waste for ends that we will never taste.
A lifetime spent with egg on our face.

There is no hope for time replaced.
Still, knowing this, we must awaken without time to contemplate our dreams in hypnagogic states that hold the key needed to free our soul from these arbitrary weights.

Inflicted on our conscious being bearing on our consciences absconding with the only thing that would ensconce our existence.
But our purpose has been purloined for acquisition of gold coin in copious amounts of which we’ll never see by all accounts.

As pointless is this penned appeal I must present this truth concealed for I must voice these things I feel lest I succumb to my ideals of suicidal impetus of such unbridled force that thrusts upon me like this bed of bricks from where I now sit writing this.

How Can I

with time erodes the roads of hope
as seconds pass without distinction
wedged between the hourglass
in retrospect, a stranger’s fiction
e’er beholden to the past
shackled by fear’s ersatz depictions
diligently deconstructed
prone to dubious perceptions
doled out in fervid procession
sold out to our indiscretion
futures nigh belie the burdens
of reflective introspection
corporate chains restrain our choices
subjugated minds and voices
commandeering our convictions
volunteering our volition
fostering the hour’s dissension
lost inside our own dimensions
drifting states of lone diremptions
kissed by fate’s unknown afflictions
wistful days of rumination
stripped of our only salvation
dripping death with indignation
listless breaths of consternation
consciously resigned enslavement
viciously maligned by deviants
clamoring to hide misconduct
how can i but not give a fuck

Art and Artifice

art and artifice
implicitly aligned
structures strewed about
born of suffering

whimsical woes
weave what is reaped
by the dimness
of expansion
through temporal constructs
at imminent eminence

the flagship is abandoned
as its author
into the plundering depths
of a tapering relevance
prudence eclipses propriety
its elements
soon omitted

remnants lay errant
apparent to none
begets artifice
as art
is forsaken