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