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

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

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

Our Condition

this dream that teems with emptiness
is one i know so well
for it permeates the essence
of existence

despite how it may seem
on the surface of this shell
reality looms ever
in the distance

the laughter that you hear
is the mirror reflecting tears
transmutated by a diligent subconscious

even when i smile
it’s to subjugate my fears
in a world where judgment rules
such fools as pontius

if i appear serene
it is only to belie
every tempest ever brimming
from within

the depth of this despair
has breached the realm beyond repair
and it’s all that i can bear
not to give in

the worst might never be
save to say this lonesome curse
will afflict the hearts of all
who dare exist

that we will never know
any truth by what is shown
the state of our condition
e’er persists

Not Even Death

and here we are
yet living
on this eve of lost idyll

i am no more able
to feel your touch
than sorrowed skies retreat

the passing hours
grow ever darker
my lair has turned to dust
unsettled

roaming on this plane
alone
in search of any senseless reason

the more i look
the more i find
my mind is but a distant ruin

littered with the consequence
of time’s relentless ire

as truths unravel
by its hands
extending far beyond
the grave

where now
not even death
can stand to save us

The Sleepless Hour

drowning
in the darkness

silence
rests upon her lips

i long
to lift my leaden head

paralyzed
by thoughts of living

seconds drifting
in and out
from borrowed backgrounds

sitting in the circle
of regret
and rotting earth

thoughts of her
tormenting
pages shorn
to show an ending
spurned

still
her laughter echoes
through the frigid nights
of empty air

poisoned
by the voiceless peril
slithering through
meadows maddened

striking with a force
unfounded
never was her kiss
denied

but shallow whispers
lay awake
to court the
shadow’s song of ruin

through the forest
whence we stumbled forth
to greet the sleepless hour

Profound Mechanism

what an oddly profound mechanism memory is
to be able to hear
the exact sound of someone’s voice
from years ago just by imagining it
to be able to vividly picture
a scene from a bygone era
whilst simultaneously looking
at the reality of the present moment
to summon the irreplicable symphony of flavors
rendezvousing upon the tongue
from a cherished dish
whose creator is no more
to behold the sweet scent
that once had found your senses
rapt in an erstwhile lover’s embrace
to revisit the feeling
of fleeting ideals
whence they fooled you into falling
for what you thought would be forever
foundations are ever shifting
in the light of newfound context
tragedy reshapes the stories
locked within our mind
knowing that the day will come
when all that we might stand to muster
swiftly turns to dust swept away
by a lonesome gust of wind
and this, the only truth
that we might ever trust in
it is for this very reason
we must live
within each moment
to foster our experience
as though it were untold
to leave a bold impression
that we one day might recall again
when all is lost as we retreat
into death shrouds of our own making

Phantom Filament

i swallow pills
to feel like i exist
to stay my wrists
from bleeding out
and the nightshade
from my mouth
keep the hammer
from the primer
and the blade
untouched by blood
to prevent another haunting
at a wayward viaduct
so the reservoir stays pure
and the oven safe for food
let the rope tend to its duty
and the fires burn of wood
plastic bags were meant for sundries
and policemen to protect
heroin is too depressing
living death begets respect
it’s an irony most shameful
that to suffer is to earn
amid consequence most baleful
while the tastemaker’s face turns
as we follow in the footsteps
of a lifelong detriment
chanting “this is as good as it gets”
in a phantom filament