Overcharged prestige

 football face
I look at your commentator face
cheeks that droop down past the jawline honey
That is the definition of goop

swaggering charisma it the motormouth
churning out predictable pretencious predictions
dressed in talent yet nakedly overrated
football face

A pile of pleonasm
tumbling out of well proportioned lips
That smack injecting the exact saliva index
As the voice box bangs and booms around

The tones they search for on supermarket shelves
reminiscent of the brands that spread the disease
Of obsession with fake novel prestige

Raggedy path declared

The clouds broke, the day was clear and the accuser stood before me backed by a thousand fanclub obsessors... 

(announcing)
You don´t belong anywhere
For no group or collectivity do you care
A statue far from us, we´d like to ban
A true island disconnected from us, the mainlands

I answered them...

This is my own raggedy path indeed
My own rejuvenating bottle of uncertainty
eyes outside of me continue bewildered
Confused by the alien nature of my anti-guild

The world is a bridge stacked with lemmings
each human like blunt bricks by the many
So they fit into a wall of conformity cemented
stuck under pressure dumb blind and obedient
Until they tragically become debris

The taboo of independent thought never freed
enforced by insecure peers and envious collegues
Safety in numbers screams the flock herd and school
fear and derision shared by popular fools

Veronica the fruit woman

Half a smile as the morning sets it´s heat for midday
reddish cheeks and cynical winks
The calmness of the prestorm grey
somehow blessed

Short stubby legs keep her active
Over the fruit on sale

The love a grandmother might want to reserve
Keeping the bitterness below the lines that might form
On her aging face

she looks at every customer and passerby differently
at each face as if there were truly a soul behind 
but sometimes the wince and tight lemon lips
Lets us know there was no soul in that passerby 

 Not a second but a wide berth I give them
For the stare of veronica passes through to the little essence
Or lack there within
The abundance and life of fruit reflects in her face

Not a simple grocer
but a lost saint living a life curbed by others voices
the well intentioned and mal intentioned vying to influence
Neither awate that they don´t inflict or gain points

For the woman who sells that fruit old as she is
Is but a little girl who recieves each day as a present
And unwraps it in the street as she reaches for change
Or as she bags that fruit as she has done for decades

Wrist pain

 wrist pains
what is life 
When the tendons get you down
The tangle of veins stretch and kink

Wrist pains
Oh dear what was this life to be
Through the spectacles of agony now
I just about can´t see

Wrist pains
Of all the nagging drought bred parasites
The ache in where my body pleads for dexterity
Unable to manipulate the puppets in this parody

Wrist pains
Surging through forearms like flames
 All logic bleeds out of the brain
more than a twinge insane

What is life for so many painful distractions
barely shake your fist up at that invisible assailant
A cream or repellent
Just never any relief

Rosson´s den

 yellow warehouses full of growing cannabis stalks
Living rooms for parties and inebriation
The remains of dinner fall off dirty plates and soil the sidewalks
A thousand teenage adults attempt to classify for an invitation

They would be the popular hanger ons that would rustle up cash
and customers latch on to the latest scheme and theme for a bash
Big trucks and classic cars that have been restored and soldered
long and heated speculation arms folded

Only the gesticulator keeps himself hands free
as the others devise strategies to disagree
The task force drug awareness mobile workshop arrives
Pretend to be human for an hour hidden knives

Before transforming back into crisis seeking addicts
half drunk on their own sense of shrunken identity
As the butt of the joke was aimed at these thugs
Who fill the void in their personality with drugs

The yellow warehouses were like these big garages of fun
The police came in burning and blazing guns
The specialists having confiscated tools of sin
Rosson the big gangster had nothing but a grin

For it wasn´t warehouses weed
Nor party living room perks
it wasn´t even the drugs that made it all work
it was the social rug sewn of outcast fibres

And he simply slung that rug over his shoulder 
opening his party somewhere hidden damper and colder
atleast for a few months of chaotic senseless fun
As the reflectioness youth collect like tar in their own lungs

A search for value?

Our qualities
wrapped in confusion
smooth frowns and smiles for sale
flat and sugar coated
discount

collide with the good and the bad
confused at the birth of this moment
Time winds it around your head
dizzying you with the motion of existence

I´ll strive I tell the world
None of my deeds recorded
None of my thoughs and feelings convey me out there
struggle to build an identity

In a world of fixed structures 
attempting to sell or rent you opinions
we dive on this reef running out of air 
as we look for pieces of ourselves in the artificial coral 

waves of confusion knocking us back under
where we chew on egos and past pain
and fear the imminent shark of our psyche

Encounter with the Grumixama

 morning pours humidity into the street
A well rooted fruit tree into the sidewalk
Plump fruits hanging down
Bigger than cherries

A route almost never taken
Maturity of moist spring
A sugar makes its exchange
Between the leaves

Waiting for my fingers to pick it 
and taste that year of growth in it

Affirmative exit

 the mega annum
lightning has formed it 
Snow storms
Bleached palms
an ocean mouth

the hand holds the root of the mountain
molten legacy
the hand smooths it all
lips to corn

tempests spring up from calm
disagreeable
hammering on humanity
remains like a broken alphabet

stories never told
rites not carried down
predators reclaim the land
The megannum

The suicide of complacency
Take your legs and run
Death takes many forms
shows many faces

Not by bullets shrapnel bombs or radiation
But by waves of snow rain sea and fire

In the prowess

 Sunlight reflects
the smell of opportunity of the moving walls
the real lift of the senses
the right to life

Rays are curving telling lies 
blurring the brain
A dopamine cake
The ego frenzy

The scent that throws you forward
eliciting another plain of existence
the shaken life
Prowess

That taunts you with the unobtainable
eternal vicious fire in the palm
the sacred visions

Aetius and the welllspring

 The emperor had escaped the chaos of the continent.
He lived like a monk in the cellar of a huge castle,
on an island.
His days were filled with venturing into the lower abandoned levels of the castles to forage food.
finding a nearby slat between stones where sun would burst through for an hour to get enough light. And traveling down into the tunnels of the castle hundreds of meters below the last floor of the cellar to get water from an underground creek.
The monotonous years went on for years and years, yet his skin didn´t age.
And his hair didn´t grey.
He spent three hundred years like that, he knew the weekends because lords would come and celebrate there every weekend. every two years a drunk lord would stumble down into the lower levels of the cellar looking for wine, in this case the emperor would attack him with sharp wood and drink the lord´s blood, inebriating himself in the process. He would dispose of the body by carrying deep underground, where he carried all things dead he encountered.
There rats and other creatures would nibble on it until it all invariably ended up as bones which the emperor used to fashion things like chairs and bed supports, that made his existence a little more comfortable.
Over three hundred years the emperor had developed such insane habits to keep himself alive that he had been growing as if the underbelly of the castle was actually some kind lab with just the right conditions to provoke him into getting healthier and bigger.
His hearing and eyesight became so sharp he could watch the land from the narrow slat in the wall and hear almost everything that was happening.
Many conflicts and strange events would pass....
Today spanish had invaded the island and were now on the island, playing with their new matchlock gunpowder arquebuses. He could here the rattling of it stirring up from the beaches. The sicilians ran scared as hell. The spanish were the big boys of the mediterranean now and their fierce reputation followed them everywhere they went. 
The emperor could hear their bragging and their yelling on the plains below the castle now, hauling their flags and cannons up to take the castle.
The emperor kept his ear against the slat to hear everything, it must have been a tough day because their camp was silent by midnight.
All the nobles had departed yesterday for Ragusa, inland they believed they´d be safe.
He stood in the dim moon light 150 meters from their camp, rats nodding up and down jumping in and out of the creek as if baptising themselves before the battle.
A stream of ants spiders and scorpions slowly streamed out of the tunnel emulating the water that followed them all out of the mouth of the rock beneath the castle, this torrent of hideous and venomous vermin flowed directly toward the sleeping spanish camp.
All of the emperors little deadly friends, he recognized their movements and could imitate them exactly with his hands, the creatures seemed to understand and would strangely play to the whims of the emperor.
Aetius(the emperor) raised an axe he had fashioned out of human bones and cage steel. walking slowly and silently toward the camp, it was his very first experience outside of the castle. The air was perfect a slight mist that caressed long beard and forehead. leaving a calm moisture The smell of it was like fresh rain and newly harvested wheat.
By the time he came upon the camp spanish soldiers were throwing off their armour and dancing to keep themselves from being stung or bitten as literally millions of spiders, ants and scorpions lurched onto them and proceeded to get into their undergarments to find soft warm flesh to bite and sting.
Aetius kicked some of the men back down to the ground and the hoard of creatures seemed to go into frantic rapture. He raised his axe and took out any of the soldiers that seemed to look semi organized in the tumult.

By morning the camp was annihilated in a most dreadful manner. Not one dead insect, spider or rat surrounded the camp, just swollen bodies cooking in the sicilian morning sun.
Aetius threw on a helmet and spanish armour cut his brow on a cutlass and made his way to the caravela. Spring was here.

The morning she became

She had slept well
She was Maira, my own girl
reflecting off the walls early
bright and brilliant

A smile that sparks and spreads rays
hums and moves into each time of day
In this case she was morning composure
gracefully sitting on the sofa

Beaming up at me
lifting me up, drowning woes
chasing the laziness out, peace grows
Literally pushing morning forward

Part of her internal goddess present in a style
the medicine of the flickering in her smile
I´d reflect back to her at akin velocity... for
So many things in life lack reciprocity

Her external goodness warms the room with all evidence
summery heart a thousand reasons to live toward resonance
atleast half come to memory in her presence thereof
A life creator, I found a big love

Melodrama demolition

 A pot of Kerry
the creek was dark
shallow though
Lizzy blushed pale hark

Patrick lost to the wind
designs for life stained and dim
the pencil outlined grandeur unreflected
The garden outlined neglect

Old houses and their hidden drama
interrupting children's play
their symbolic toys in dioramas
Restless leaks

Age and wisdom
should intertwine
become inseparable
or find separate tables to dine 

The creek behind the house
silty and untransparent
The eel dishonest
somewhere under a bank

Above it all there she stood preened
waiting for a camera yet to be seen
polishing herself to finally gleam
Her life that novela Geraldine

Sun hope and desire

hand goes to chest
almost to confirm heart
the beat in the palm
blood and thought

hope runs too far
A child unwatched
a smile too wide for the mouth
a presence too heavy for a world like this

The sun ashamed
screaming down in hot interrogation
why do you worship me
Empty eyes fail to hold a glance

hand goes to stomach
just to confirm digestion
routine satisfaction
A predictable centipede

desire flares up
A dangerous rash
consuming most of the body aggressively
identical to sunburn

Of wars to come

 They stretched expectations
overcame those old obstacles to the future
put their demands on the children
futures to reach for beyond the common struggle

That refined tincture somewhere from with the vocal chords
added there by generations of accumulated austerity
The overlord mentality connected by fat veins under the jaw
To condemn, motivate and shame in a flicker of a second

She was seated and relayed all the disappointments
ranging from the early school through juvenile fray
Banging like a hammer over the failure for the boy
To grow into a man

Electric box firing off from the lungs to the tongue
scathing reprimand shooting out like an abrupt machine rifle
then recoiling in a hot smouldering grin
Merciless and piglike

The British violent voice
pushed on a by leaky battery
leaking acid down it´s very throat
an empire´s speaker telling the natives to betray themselves

Telling a child to strangle their imagination
to blend into the grey nostalger themselves 
quaint themselves into uniformity
And feel the shame of judgement 

You could hear the harsh tone
Of the dogooding proud marchers
tempted by the sacred pomposity
echoed out of their vomit voice

masking their lack of path
A wrath in the utterance
over children´s ears
mortar over trench

inevitable bloodshed

The thick and thin

 To come from a person
To make it into the world because of them
To have been a part of them
Separate from them

Thrown into the world bemused
born and upside down confused
Looking up to the hospital lights
breathless

To have been piece of that person
The veins of survival to grow
Floating tiny embryo
filling up the body

A reality in the womb
In a small cushioned world protected
Pain not quite a message
Chaos too slow to be detected

The factory of the human body builds us
A garage of creation it is
The vessel´s deep purpose
population service

I came here from one source
It is my mother what a force!
A home, a gateway into the world
From somewhere thick and thin

The shaven sheep of retail leisure

Hugging the escalator
semi smile trained on the way
legs crossed
head turning

Taking in the lights
a restless animal
a consumer
searching for it´s herd

Nothing more than a small purse
a credit card
some vague desire
to wake themselves up inside a purchase

the exhibits and showrooms
find their way
to your little cravings
squeezing that precious box

where you keep your dopamine

A rush to get that last item
a lucky individual
The status of a customer
self esteem discount

Each shop calling you
By a cheap nickname
a fast world invented
a world that didn´t have time to see you

despite the billion fat cameras

A road to buying something
to tickle an identity
To pretend to eat in a foodcourt
to hold those paper bags

Fresh with reciepts
Installments for a few months to come
into the wheel
a well dressed hamster

A game inside a game
you are no volunteer
but pretend so we can approve the insurance
sell a piece of the herd

some of your hyde
a percentage of the estimated value
your attempt at a smile
your screen glued eyes

Your fanatic banter
predictable ramble
for some feed
idealogical profit

slipping through your fingers
a human program on the escalator
reaching for a brand
that might tell you who you are

The sacred chicken

 The Henhouse faded pale brown stained wood
And catchy grassy and hay smell
The chickens patiently exist
In that darkness

The slow utter

across the insistance of morning
The peeping dawn
The rooster itself agitated patrolling
cautiously stepping the bareground

not a grub hole present
a single ant trekking the dusty nothings
surrounding the henhouse
Rooster´s crest almost hardened by the frost

The slow montonous cluck extends

Patiently existing in the darkness
Hoping for new life the animal like hope
Empty and unknowing searching for feeling
Dawn pouring through the little gaps

Between the grey brown stained slats
That open for summer a brazen lover
close for winter a bank to charge you interest
The seasons sky god´s hardly acquainted

That specific sharp cluck

An utterance that folds the dark
Inside the stale coop
The fodder screaming for fungus
The morning blazing like a war

Unbeknownst hens go on laying
A basic empty instinct
resembling some sort of purpose
in the heat and darkness