Leisurely plans for the apocalypse

 The shadow of the brick building casts such a contrast
the sunlight inviting grins
The shade cooling the wives
Up here away from the bombs

Looking over the sparse valley
as if I could taste it with one lick
From up here it was all mine
even the dreary political game

These demonic forads here to get ideas approved
let me peel them apart and let them know
Just how far they have fucked everything up
the scent of milky grass thrown up into the alp

War is such a delicious state of affairs
it's a bulimic orgasm 
sexual shame
keeping my dessert on ice

I forget about it all up here
where the clouds scrape my roof
sprinkling a little of that zauberpulver
steel and fire don't make small talk

The mountain air helps me contemplate
on how to slaughter another few million
Our souless rules and systems swallowing up more land
The limelight has lost it's tartness

Deckchairs and medication
Hubris flow

Just before winter

 Petersburg looked majestic from the sooty window
I could see out to the cathedral towers
I looked back down at my split leather shoes
Mother had given me a hammer to slaughter the rats with

Under the building I almost fell asleep waiting for the rats
a stinging hot dream of my old city in flame
pieces of me burning away until my eyes opened suddenly
And there stood the first corageous rat

I didn't bother getting up Because
 it would just give the creature warning
So I launched the hammer wth precision
Another dead to show mother

If Viktor or the kids from 33 saw this
They would know of my mastery
Out there in the wheat fields
swinging those sickles for a ruble

Perfectionist nomads

 the arrow in the bow out of balance
the inside river not big enough to wash the clothes
the guard dog's bark too overpowering
the intensity and proportion of it all out of place

The cave like structures full of trinkets and crafts
yet some heavy orthodox lifestyle rules over us
The overpowering light of the day
and the cool darkness under our rocky shelters

ambition is all about aim
a keen eye for a good target
The projectile is heavy and cumbersone
weighing down the bow 

Soon we will have to move
 the moon of migration
bites the back of our nomadic legs
 scripture etched in seasons

Paid to protest

 Protesting zombie hoards
Banners to prove they can think
Bursting through gates a fuss
kicking up dust and hate

it's legs and monotony
cattle to muster
badged and indoctrinated
Milked and liberated

Bounding into the long steep streets
reckless a junkie toward the fix
this raving band of lunatics
screaming the names of the habitual bandits
till we all live under utopian standards

Waiting for the train

 They were on corridor street
not far from apocalypse city
pregnant and smiling the girls sat patiently

where a man stubbornly and awkwardly sets himself toward the object
Two young women waiting for the train welcome a rare fate
A future starts to form inside 

The chaos of needs confuses and pits on against the other
Their burdens own their voices
Sympathy and carnal urges push and pull these empty men

Certain expectations veil reality
it's thoroughly crushing impact
A few inches above the womb

They sing really well.

 The region sings well

the afternoon sun slowly cools down
the light a nostalgic pinch of yellow dimming
the people in this region sing well I think I'll stay for a while

A few classic cars adorn a long cut lawn
whistling to himself systematic in deception
5 moves ahead of us the dumbfounded honest tourists
Duping the nearby neighbor whose state he stole and sold

The classic cars still lay across the lawn
Yet all of their motors were missing
Opening the hood to see a great cavity
The hollow laugh of the rogue conman

The shade of the late day extending
The next play is already enrolling vulnerable guests
Gullibity sweet sweet milk

This region sings so well

An official hour of relaxation

 

The broken man pretends to be offended
when the barman won't serve him
drying dishes with a towel inside a glass
The scowl was enough to entertain 3 bartenders

The big space in the high ceiling concrete war bar
emptiness within the body and mind
His empty mug
His empty grin

Bar man lightly exchanges chides with him
one wonders what stops him from kicking the guy out
Probably because he will see him tonight
distancing himself from withdrawl

siphoning money into the bar from his wallet
and beer from the tap
a meter for simpletons
bad jokes, burps and failed anecdotes

the new attack

 those many helmets
The illusion of safety
appearance of power
getting cocky in your submarines now

The center of it all

 get around the building
The big center of everything
gates and turnstyles
long queues of people dressed darkly and carrying baggage

inside the center get married
near a large flag on the seats there under

Curing Malady Villam

 The spider nest thick with spiders
as thick as your hand
in the shade of the jaboticaba
Keep the children away

heat draws the wasps out
their humm in the air a hellscream
a gust of wind carries them
toward absent minded families

the honey falls off the the tree
like cash out of an atm
I go to collect it
my arms are stung and bitten

Until im on my knees
hands together in prayer
Pain surging like a tough drug
speeding electrically up and down my veins

The honey dries and my hands stick
clay yellow under the trees
shade a relief sun still such a grandfather to me
hands and arms swollen and sick

will my mind beg for healing
as I am ready for prayer
No my mind begs for honey
legs lift me

I break a branch off that saintly tree
And swat the tiny predators
I rip them out nests and all
to bring back the bees

Ice taunts the sun

 At the top of that hill
Snow has fallen
happy campers eat so sure of themselves
under the hot sun

All the meanderings of a latent youth
yet it melts
sad campers are washed off their feet
equipment ruined

we run to save them
icy water kicking up 
screaming at the sun angrily
blinding us as we flail

Sun dries it
you all stand thankless
you stare across the valley
The grass glistens provocatively

A face in the water

 Down into the urban sprawls damp lowland neighborhoods
street lights dim and hooded
encroaching onto the roads to hear traffic just hours from dawn
Car of the mind swerves corners in a dizzy motion
Many years ignoring the want
hitting the last small intersection too quickly and falling into the haunt
morning, a garage of long reeds along the side of a terrace wall
Automobile and abandoned property merge
car half submerged
you are dipped into wet earth

Down into the meaningless sprawl damp competition fools you good
street lights thin and sooty
swarms your values and blurrs your vision each little virtue well torn
The day is almost breaking sworn into useless comotion
Fight to peel off the layers that daunt
hitting the pavement with those career eyes still programmed to saunter
tearing feeling pushing your steps toward the office don't fall
Put your mask on let pretension surge
senses fully purged
You drown not knowing you're worth

Creaturing until the end

 creaturing
the tongue of the road
blood behind skin
fat all mixed
bruised from falling off the gravy train
grin bulge

creaturing like a long lizard vertical on the tree
tongue tasting air and bark
lingering for an insect
like a dark shadow in bright light
but all ensconced in forest darkness

creaturing along on tight rapid legs
what an existence
all of this universe
all of this food
This endless hunt
this hormone of existence
a powerful chemical
driving the creature in us forth

The mouth such an archtecture to it's prey
between teeth
each one embracing
yet the release is not given
the tongue possessed passes judgement
The taste of flesh of life and of sin
the scales hidden somewhere inside the tastebuds
the conscious moment of death
The final peak before an etrnal slump  

Thursday's mind

 He looked up at thursday
the curves of a long face
a long day

He spoke in thursday tongue
to understand the day better
get to know it

thursday was a funny person
coming around every week
As familiar as routine

Could we get into thursday's head
crack the skull
yet leave the day alive

investigate the brain
find out what thursday is thinking
opinions about other days of the week

He took thursday by the hand
out toward the beach of each hour
Into the long drawn out tides of the afternoon

The haunted assembly hall

 locked in there overnight

Ghosts and people with no lives
Mango trees that have less hanging

Locked in for a week
survived and came out with a smile

The hall was full of groups
Doing arts and crafts

Taking themselves so seriously
like parents urged

the old building has probably got another century 
Noone the wiser of the ghosts

By then even the trees will be replaced
people won't get locked in there anymore

meet themselves for the first time
fearless and foodless

A reason to dance

you will be the life of the party
the hangover after
eternal celebration
hell you'll be decoration

Oh welcome here
weve invented excuses
for you to be somebody
In your own skin

They all pry
wondering what you are
weve given you a name
You are certainly a thing

That personality in and out of your tongue
And your brow
pretty much the rest of you
welcome here at your birth

we've been thinking of a name
so unprepared
the novelty
Like religious soda
Spilt all over the midwife

give us some new target
so we can make it out feeling proud
so we can pretend we lived our lives
A life must be the meaning to it all

A purpose
Among many
in the realm of human obsession

A civil place

 

wet
hard
slightly dirty
steamy

A mirror sweating
soap holders flaky milky remains

obsessed with beauty
misguided cleanliness
relief relief
the waste of us

A corner of your mind
holds a conversation with this place

drops of water
damp towels
the center of civilization
bodily fluids and stains thereof

empty cold floor
hairs and dust into a cluster
notions of hygiene
attempts at it

Life inside a staple

 It's like a staple
syrup of light
a comfort of sorts
a staple yet uneven

Slightly out of shape
so tiny yet so concentrated
half embedded in reality
half embedded in fantasy

staples keep walls and paper together
what keeps the human spirit tethered to the body?
a staple that holds all parts the body together
To the unseen unreal energy

blinding light inside that staple
spirit glue
mis-shapen 
hanging off a ledge

a hook 
on a crane
On top of a life
stacked like a broken building

a staple to bring things together
maybe a solution
not in the shape of a bent staple
not a heavenly scheme

something so solid
it could hold up a locomotive
train toward some sequel
perhaps still being worked on assembled with the remaining staples

Age and bureacracy

 Embark upon the official
I see the sweetness on earth
I savor of it, from it

I lose vitality over mere circumstance
The crude injustice of existence
waves of memory

Great tides of events
with all the floating baggage
of I a self absorbed

Myths have formed grandiose fantasies
Though starting gate's comparison leaves one wanting
the talent of the few tickles the many with sharp knives

As they embark on amazing careers
grandeur and arrogance
deep pain at single unmet expectations

Like teeth biting into the back 
of each body of each day
each tooth meeting each spines

bags and wrinkles fill the face like trinkets in a lounge
the quality of what we truly accumulate
could fuel god's laughter for another century

Certificates that distinguish me
let me inside the gates
validate me intellectually and viscerally

official stamps eyes all looking upward
as if they just opened eyes
order has trumped strategy

The papers grant me participation
with the print I am recognized
Like tatoos that spike social screen likes

Routine devours aspirations
lunchtime mouthfuls
fattening my physically dormant form

The soul of a cheap existence

 Pull out the blackened stove top
where rust and grease have solidified
layered and infused, carbonized 
from a million burns

The blue flame
bulges out ready for the next pot
It looked like a spirit
an ultra hot flowing ghost

awkward oven and stove
falling apart yet just together enough for the next meal
The gas canister's sheen and brill 
contrasted with the metal corpse

Like the wealthy convalescent and their young swain
one fueling the last years of the other
perverse and practical
at the back of the slum 

Happy families travel

 The institute of family comes with the necessary activity of travel
the beautiful illusion of escape from the immediate environment
As if you can exit the very reality you've chosen to fill your life with
Into the car with smiles and shrieks and some sort of suitable season

a rare distration
Joy imposed
maps and accomodation
a day in the sun

over one hill into a new small well tapered city
all trim and cropped
show slim body and flop
pool side prim and proper

The path away from home
shameless escape
children's chatter
One family has too much and one too little

They'll pretend to live the same reality
from separate spectrums
shame and righteousness
good fuels for a mediocre journey through life

nonquestioning smiles and nodds
a trip away somewhere where luxury is uniform
excess acceptable, encouraged
behind the classic painting is a landfill of trash the size of a small planet

Yes shame is fuel
righteousness it's competent rival
the weather outside the car window in clouds and blue
sun coming on and off like a kid a at a switch

In a hotel room built over a working class cemetary
room service is a sensation in the lower stomach
phone goes to ear servile stream of sunlight chatter
a flow of shining water in their voices

The road that got you there rose and fell over hills
snow stuck to the land like babe to tit
like wheel to road
and when the sun did appear....

It just revealed the lack of perfection
That holiday makers either ignored
Or obsessed over like senile busybodies
heating up nursing homes with unlived rage

That heat

 heat has spread through the streets
like hot blood speeding through veins
whafting up huge clouds of hot humidity
swollen capillaries

heat hits the brow
sweat the interaction
heat hits the walking vagabond
who pretends not to feel the burn

Heat slaughters the cool
blunt and simmering
truthful and menacing
invitation temperature

To become one

 There is only one of you
becoming something
adorning yourself
what a plum

caught under the gaze of the moon
one of the things you promised yourself 
undone
a thing you promised not to do
done

The gaze your own eyes have on yourself
not of your appearance
but of what you live for
existance

A word close enough
that might describe you
a sentence affirmative enough
to make you want to live

The sunlight of darkness

For the sun was worshipped
and light was synonymous with god and life
dark unseen spiritual workers condemned as filthy 

The sun shines from within you
youll say its your heart
and I will remain sceptic

The heat from your stomach
breaks down food
energy and minerals fix into organs and muscles

Youll say that the sun resides in your heart
That kindess and empathy are your hands
but are they on your tongue when you lie this moment?

clothes are important an appearance game
and how we dress our true forms in words
Words into attire woven from pure lies

The sun shines out of you, you swear
family photos and fantasies of perfection
yet at the heart is interest

personal profit in all currencies
attention, recognition, security
but no sunshine

we are busy inventing ourselves
condeming the compost in others
ignoring their own need of rot

Yes verily in the darkness
That is where the seeds are
ignored and rotten

the sunshine is not in your heart
you cannot walk there
the new energy is from the darkness within

That darkness you condemn
with the conviction of a rugged priest
is the same darkness granting you life

to flaunt your beautiful lies

The price of your excitement

 you pass the pylons
Long lengths of vacant green land
it screams at you to build something
Then to a huge intersection

where a makeshift office was built
to collect money to invest in great works of chaos and corruption
To make the city existance a random game of luck
excitement from a people obssessed with lottery and chance

tax and little payments that are collected 
by overexcited misguided adolescents
That percentage of the money spent
it's a fruitflavored shakedown

They don't wear uniforms as they demand the tax
But you can see badges on the chests
company name emblazened, next month it will change again
their names in tiny print

Pine dreary

 Lost inside the hillock pineforest
Dim morning light singing sleep
the floor a thick carpet of needles
strange mushroom forms have slowly erupted

Colors and forms in the fungus never seen
Intertwining like strange veterbrae
The day dimmed still more
The dank moist air accumulating

Darkness enshrouded this underworld
manifesting as lullbies to induce deep sleep
Comfortably over the soft needles
sinking in

A fork in the road

 The mother and three children sped off in the car
The husband holding onto the thin trim above the car door
then falling off almost tripping over his running legs
The children's faces neutral

A fight broke out between them abruptly
then suddenly stopped
they looked upon each other as if they were sharing one brain
separation on a highway

they couldn't understand
For there was no dialogue
no arguement, not even a good bye
Just a severance of everything

Icecold and shocking
troubling and mysterious
one cut and the family was separated
never to rejoin