I hold the weapon it weighs upon my arms
It is a heavy machine gun
I must take life with it
it is long it is blame
I weild it on the stairwell
The world deems me a killer
As they come down the escalator
I eleminate them all
Girl and boy before they reach the floor
I was sent to launch the offensive
Taught to never hesitate
bullets leave muzzle
singing through the still air
The body shudders and falls
as the stairs move downward
Life is so precious
so expensive to snuff out
Satan was a wonderful dancer.
God played the violence.
The guitar, riff the discussion.
The deadly percussion.
Shaped into the spaces where sunlight cannot reach.
Playing chicken with a line of shade.
Snorting the fallout unafraid.
Surfing the unholy blast wave.
Satan was the adversary at his core.
Chaos was this broad polished floor.
There he goes dancing past like a hurricane.
He pours into vacant people cultivating insane.
Limited freedom inside this reality's sweet sacred haze.
The worlds black and whites only permits him the greys.
God is the guitar, the roar the bark.
The light and often the dark.
The devil can't even claim darkness.
Even the original lie is not of his doing.
Yet Satan can outdance all of heaven.
Breezing inside and outside of those Dali landscapes.
Stalking the raw heart with intent.
The air is tame and smells like God.
So he must spin etherally
and appear arbitrarily.
Each one of us worthless.
Each one of us of exorbitant cost.
I peek into the paradox that shifts inside your mind.
Lesser God's are now insomniacs.
For the sound of dancing hooves on wooden floors
have replaced their presence.
Serpent arises the singular I
Pouring out of my own heart
crossing the scorched field
pumping scales to move through the ash
The blacked ground
Lateral undulation
hinged front fangs
Rock crack eyes
Venom glands
Be restful my inner temple repeats
I am reptillian window inside me reflect it
From somewhere within the earth where heat arose
Be focused be sharpened
I am snake like
The scorched field becomes abundant once again
Full of holes that are homes
of my kind
full of peril
Recharging in the sun
I so singular in purpose
Solitary in movement
Frightening a world of monsters
a metaphorical devil
There was nowhere to sit.
The tables echoed with the rules and etiquette.
And their particularities.
I looked around at satisfied people.
An ocean formed to my left.
A long strange beach formed out of grassy clay hills.
You used to see me climb.
Now I walk straight and aligned.
I walk right out ostracized.
And thank God for my solitary existence.
The straight line out of their town fences.
For some reason my place was elsewhere.
Their large churches yards were organized with tiny flags.
They cast a spell on the mouth to make it open and brag.
Grins were sold at discounts near the candyfloss machine.
The forbidden beach followed me like a tail, salty and clean.
Bothering the audience who were just trying to make sense of the scene.
Their tunnel minds like slaves, my power showed strange waves.
That dug up roadsides and broke into country with sand and saltwater.
The priest came forth and with his righteousness he caught it.
"Why do you turn our mountain village into some silly beach"
I kept walking out of the gate, unwilling to be beseeched.
The priest kicked at the crabs snapping at his frock.
I walked all the way into savory dusk fog.
My presence was the forming sand dune and sea,
overseeing the endless body of water of lunacy.
My eyes sped to the horizon like darts.
I brought the senseless into my heart.
Spread these crazy coasts across the land.
You are the priest, blind and branded.
I am the loose sand, slipping with the shifting prose,
Upturning beautiful white tables with the shores I grow.
Splitting the concrete below them, I mount I ride.
Inviting the sand and gargantuan tides,
looking into your eyes once to speculate on your confusion.
That my lack of meaning muddles your need for conclusion.
In a world that is slowly shaping up to be something,
born of my abstract whim.
I brought what I could to the eating.
Everyone sat down, the best morcels were shared.
I looked upon the pretty colors of food.
It all disappeared into their stomachs.
I imagine all those pretty colors merging.
Into a grand pit of digestion.
Colors overlapping and fading into one tone.
Stomach linings expanding and contracting.
Grocery bags filling and emptying.
Smiling wives taking items out.
Preparing something temporary,
to satisy the eyes and the appetite.
The throat is time,
food dives into the stomach.
After exploring the mouth.
Allowing the mouth to explore it.
I brought what I could to the eating tables.
White tops reflecting heaven.
Is heaven consumption?
And what is hell constipation or diarrhea?
I want to know what is essential for life.
To be tested in a life of full.
On the mountain side where silence is the truest friend
Wrapping me in stillness in cold
granting me permission to reach myself again
By the exposed rocks I trace the summit
The hardness of their surface
The coldness of it
My boot leaves holes and prints in the snow
I look aimless
Yet I know where my wandering legs go
even as the frosts press down
I want to know how the mountain talks
How it looks into me
What it learns from my presence
what I can learn from its
Do sit down my chap.
Take a piece of this Medovik cake.
Check out the view from here.
look at the birch totally stripped.
Look me in the eye Greg.
Take this chalice of pontic wine.
Tell us of your visions.
Your close call at Pokrovskoye.
We'd like to offer you a piece of our wealth.
A piece of our land inheritance here.
If you'd just retire out here.
What do you say?
We'd hate to see misfortune befall you.
Especially after all you have given up.
Sometimes we have to make calculating decisions.
You have a holy a mission?
We might have to reconsider your right to live.
Can you see the Malaya Neva.
Imagine your corpse floating down there.
Separated from that powerful spirit.
No more sorcery!
