Wash the grass

 That sacred lamb
searching for a place
for a food source
a belonging

Jaw bent out of shape
bent words and eating habits
The fertilized grass
not fit for eating

Some apartment blue sky high
Some great book on business
regurgitated philosophy
A success snapshot

reading material for the staff
a half eaten meal
some fool washed the grass with slippery soap
The herd slid predictably down the treacherous slope

Like off a cliff
or an apartment building
no spirit to aim
somewhere hereafter

Those two doors in that life wall

 Two routes of life
One smooth and all pleasure, all the way through
god says hell

One route all paved with challenges just big enough
A utopian existence they say
God permits 

Two routes of life
One obese and oily during the long summer
Intense flavour yet long years of slow decay

One route trouble laiden
continued problematic existence, all the way through
God can giggle you know

Two routes of life
You decided to ignore one as it piled rocks into your ruck
You took the other with the extra weight

One route with no base for comparison
routine excellence and compulsive prepping
fixated on those goals that would be fruit

God loves your racket
God spends the currency in your drive
God gives permission old son

Your death apart

 I can see every part of you giving into the grey
I can hear it in your voice
In last months news that you recount for me once again
In the softness of your beard and life bruised brow
I can shake your hand and you can tell me something important

I can´t breathe to believe you´d really suffer
As you swaggered invincible most of your life
Yet you passed into the swamp of fear and confusion
And my goodbye was somewhere lost over the pacific
Sinking as you let go of your life

I accepted it all conforming to the low intensity emotion
Far from your deathbed as the world coughed and spluttered

Sermon on the deaf wind of Jordan

 From food inside our stomachs
Not keeping our appetite satisfied much
hands touch chest to be close to the heart boiling
Searching for purity when our emotions seem to be soiled

Hands are sent out 
On a mission to gesticulate
the essence of existence through limbs
through thought, through veins till finger tips
On mounds and dunes and readable lips

Oppressors seek compliance, servitude they want us to give up
Both like liquids being poured out of us as if we were cups
Not a drop to the front seat of prescribed importance
After the overdressed artistic conmen preachers
can you still see the eternal protoganist relieving our nightmares
Wet cloth on our brow toward the hours of need fright and fear

Gestures that grow into miracles
even inside our mind´s obsessions


 

The face of the desert

 Bleeding from his palms
ghostly face looking up from this pond
this oasis so many call life
Ghostly face solid against the sand
Transparent against the water

Lips like a love letter
Hair like a ship´s rope
Simon´s admiration
James`contemplation
The physical manifestion

sweat blends with tears
A strange ale Christ
Sweat in beads
Lakes and ponds across your
wind smacked face

Secret mercy in the desolate land
Where common man only sees lonliness
Where god hid unity
where things are clean and well placed
upon the sandy ghost face of sacred Christ

Pillars of society

 I can see you all smartly dressed for the school photo fakeup
Forced to be that excrutiating image and underneath the makeup
a subtle but rampant surface to air orgasm surges desiring to vent
Little perfection milestone forming structure of self important events
Well polished story gullible learning to interconnect superficial tea bags spent
This empty space for future rent, this steeple too lofty for a passover lent
The prayer pose of submission style in how you seductively repent

Your gymnastic ballet symmetry attention captivator, gracious pretender
An attempt at some clever extension of your careful gender
Danger in the very part of you that was recently mended

Nurse blight´s good intention

Be enough she said
As she fell from the rooftop
Be enough for yourself
A sigh of relief a second before impact
Half smile buried into the pavement
nurse served as a dessert

Poison me I jeested to the mirror image of her
Slowly through sunday lunch
Age the ony subject
The surface decay
A building with no possible renewal
Creaking under its own weight

Be enough she said
And be brave
As I looked up from a game of pretend
Shocked and shaken at how the world had shifted
Fingers pointed knives drawn
All grenade worthy cardigan wearing cannibals

Poison me slowly so I´m dead before the season end
All of these curious readers feast on this abstract eat a page remnant of me
The little value or short change god can still get out of me
Before he takes me in for a spiritual overhaul
creaking under my own weight
Dressed in the same defects
mistaken as a worthless bane

The immortal colonist´s slow death

 your cheeks hollowed from bragging
Should I be impressed
Will you ever forgive my irreverence
Shouldn´t you be suspicious of how much I loathe you sir

That I would smash your face with your own colonial hammer
Give you what you need in your disgusting currency
Until you are bleeding out of that nature of the injury
You may want to hide that derisive grin

You are not the untouchable Palpatine
Your cape sticks under doorways
And my claws will rob the fibre of your ghost
I may have to hunt you these mere words ammunition

Your hard words did  enough damage 
I´m sure youll pay your debt
Hell alley cat even
A noble lie is still a lie

Be suspicious that I loathe you

Don´t forgive my irreverence
These are the things sharpening my words
Royal destruction vanity

The old signature

 You all want the depth
Some overwhelming god script
Some titan that will roll over you
Make you feel loved in an empty world

You want the breadth the content
A gremlin of stimulus
The twisting castle of your mind
each room an attempt at comfort

The everchanging sky laughing down at it
A fighter plane landing and fresh
You want an image food for the eyes and soul
rolling on tracks whose vibration could get you to sleep

What´s written in the everchanging sky
Far off stars that won´t exist by the time you arrive at them
Light pouring off them in phantom beams
willow wisps reflecting those false alluring lights

Through a night of breath demons
Making fun in their shadow way
Bragging of their freedom
And suddenly flinching at the horror of knowing what they became

And the hate had always insisted on a solid pact of the heart
It feels wrong to rip up the agreement and put flames to it
That the everchanging sky could pump it with oxygen
Get that fire up to a productive unfeeling speed

Emotional deposit

 The young man was an emotional hobo
He flew down on a screen 
chat thread rising like the scenery as you fall
Stepping out with no notion of what animal he might be
Of his food or place in the foodchain
Of the demons who randomly steer the brain
back to the screen

He could see himself on the screen
yet he needed space
he needed a place to play
an invisible reality
Surface of the imagination
Stirring whirring
dipping into abstract brain electricity

face close to the screen
tear not translating into any language
making it into the screen
as a digital shape, coded and embedded
like an emotional deposit
appealing to some AI god
that would drop it like acid

Lost that phone

 The grassy mounds
Outdoor exercise
The phone drops
advice falls too
We go looking for things
where they don´t exist

The young peep
They see into your perversion
the guts your stomach doesn´t want to hide
Whispers sticky webs fixes suspicious eyes
The uncontrolled giggle
Your own fears of being exposed

Your possessions and their value
send you reeling across the ground
looking in that ankle high grass
for those pieces of black plastic
That define who you are
That plug you into a chance toward destiny

Regicide and the mind train

 The king´s guard was slaughtered
Sullen in his chamber
the son was not in fear
As blood sprouted from the neck
The king didn´t flinch

The new usurper
soup of treachery
Grin of disaster
Face trap sticks and encloses
The face turns into the earth

A desert canyon earth
With 18th century trains
pump and penetrate the brain
The son has been closed into this world
A keen choice of the outer ghost

Looking into this reality
Like a realtime videogame

Cantankerous and caprichous boom tea

 pancake sushi
square dancing poosh box
Organzing the cake stall
The garage of overeating

Heaven´s lil buffet table
Aprons and hairnets
obedient hind fat
tapping those linoleum floors with titter tatter babyfeet

Outside of heaven its just motorbike boys
These floating warthogs on god´s coin
like a royal head spinning through the cloud cluster
Turning it in a hubristic whirlwind

sand horse

 cinammon dust
caramel furr
yellow sugar desert

The yeast of age

 The yeast of old age
people claw for another year
roll that cigarette month
esoteric desire

all caught up in the measurements
you´ll draw lines and deadlines
for the lies on your face and the lives now bodyless
still whirring through their past routines an eternal factory of motion

Awareness subsides and most of you out there claw for sleep
That last cigarette, that ember curling toward the lip
each drag a celebrated moment
Mystical nicotine that stimulates but ages your face

That yeast in the bowl collecting itself
Sprinkled on the large sticky leaves
whose pungency is now infected
by a blight that popped and burst out that old age yeast 

Eastern pimphouse brawler

 The world is at a new precipice
Fires of the east are fed by the ghost of an old war
still simmering in the heart of an industrious legacy seeking leader
Borders must once again shift

Pushed by the pinch of bullet
and the punch of bomb
Their most valuable reources squandered
For an old man´s dream

As great dreams crumble in the rubble and the rouble
The stockpile flowing over skies from this problematic neighbor
too many long winters, slow growth and a sense of shrinkage
A red light over Balalaika blinking

Not like a traffic light but a sex district
spiritual fire consuming block on block bordel
The greed underneath a legacy seeking demon
Moscow no longer the milk giving teets they were

Maybe you need to be reduced to radioactive ash
as you tarry the human objective of power and unity

A window into humanity

 I saw the old street
120 years old
A scar into the hills
a separation between two worlds

The horses keep the street berm grass down
golden livestock cycles
Homesteads sparsley dot the land
Walking to the general store I saw a faceless man

The old street between those two old matenga hills
Separation between native bush and grass
two dimensions, pasture and scars that form human veins
The post office a healthy liver the cash store kidneys and the heart general store