In the mountains hear the whispered hymns
The Peacock guardian bringing us safety under its feathers
Watching over us with its many eyes
Telling the story of creation
Unlock the seven mysteries
Send your prayers up to the seven lights
Unlock the light
Hide us from our enemies
We are the mystery
We hold the light
Will we survive?
We cannot know so we must keep singing
Look into the sky
The king of corona
Conquer in my name
Where this crown of light
I will drown your enemies
Then build roads in your honor
Your symbol in every church
An empire to create
Roads will be traveled
And praise you the son of the sun
The mirror-image of me
People love formalities and balance
Make sure you say the incantation
It is the only way the sacred words will be heard
Verbal sleight of hand
If we can just disarm and trust
However we have to resist for the sake of tradition
So then we are lost
Lost to the formality of it
I could be wrong
But I truly don’t think I am
People in power are exempt from this
They laugh at us playing this game
I just want a grand gesture
And I hate myself for wanting that
I want heartfelt words
To know that I am thought about
We don’t live in this world of emotions
Only I dwell in this inner world
Maybe what I feel isn’t real
It is unrealistic to expect to have the intense reality given back to me
I want a grand fucking gesture
To know that I am still alive in your heart
I want a grand fucking gesture
And I fucking hate myself
We sleep and where do we go?
I sleep and wake up in New York
Central Park at night
Impending danger
Terror
Exploding buildings
I feel my heart beating
The taste of dust in my mouth
I wake up
The audio is in my ear
Rebroadcast of terrorist attack
Being alive is absurd
There is too much movement
Freeze and suspend me from this game
It’s a glandular problem
So I howl at the moon
They call this folk art
It’s just distilled fight or flight
I imagine what I could do in another time
In another body, I would fucking make it
I daydream with a pump-action function
Bursts seed birdshot
This isn’t suicidal
It’s a coalition of cognition as a means of survival
Satin dreams in a satanic panic
Decadence on the backs of the poor
Contradiction in Persia
Laying on a rug to live in safe sex dreams
Hey man, nice shot
It hit me in the heart
I found the casing in my Saturday morning cartoon cereal
My dad was the Marlboro Man that didn’t make it
No one wants your fucking trash
Warhol was a shit silkscreen sellout
Old boys have orgies and ask G-d for forgiveness
Hail Satan’s long Thighmaster toned legs
Tear down this fucking wall so I can take the credit and sell you the pieces
Sometimes I dream of Stockholm
I never been there
I probably will never see it
I still catch myself dreaming
I can’t leave but I dream
I dream of peacoats and cafes
I dream of fair skin and the University
I no longer encumbered finally free to move
smoked fish, glass of wine
Thin lipped book snob
warm sweater
I belong where I will never be
I knock on Death’s door
Sometimes he knocks on mine
Always borrowing a cup of sugar
He has a fucking sweet tooth
I ask him to cut my lawn
He declines, he likes to watch me trip
He has loud ragers at night
He likes to remind me of all I am missing
He still comes for a cup of sugar
He has a fucking sweet tooth
He just can’t help himself
He is a killer and I am a keeper
Undeniably, All living things die alone
We can travel through a wormhole to escape this mad world
We still will find ourselves crushed in our beds by the engines and wheels of time
I will be alone but I know I will be thinking of you still trying to hold on to a bit of madness
It is assumed I seek the misery but it’s not true
I just don’t fear it
I know you have to see the misery through
It’s the only path to truly love
I can feel the crushing presence
You left my mad world
It’s your way off surviving
I am in a wormhole somewhere between
Bad Poetry 