Oh please sweet spirit child, Take no heed of them grotesque trees. Whistling desolation lullabies, Nor the raggedy stars hanging In a rotten purple sky. Beckoning your name to land of the dead.
Oh sweet spirit child, Look at the crumbling gravel beneath your feet. The wind will blow, the crows entice, And all roads will depart into a contorted mists, There is no memories in these rivers of Dreaming fogs. Only fields of illusion green,
these tyrants of men with fat belly eyes Infect our dreams. Soulless sorcerers of threadbare promises. Who masterfully manipulated the hopes Of a disappointed people, And we the demented fools believed, Believed with all our hearts, That they can turn our dusty tracks into roads. Of shiny gold.
And soon beneath a cool winter's sky A flock of black coated demigods will land and will grow fat and hungry, as they try to swallow the world,
Their hidden hatred, faces within faces. And we the blinkered fools cursed...
Modern poetry stinks, It makes me nauseous Until my guts hurt. And I'm ready to spew. Narcissistic self indulgent, Belly button staring, Woe is me, Victim Delusional Middle class angst.
My eyes bleed,
Only to turn back the clock, To unread them poems. About hard nipples and scrawny cocks No rhythm no rhyme, No function no form, Oh were all to cool for that, Puking words upon the page. As if the reader will try and digest The contents of their emptiness I had enough, No I don't want know about...
It stands silent now. But for the wretched whispering, From within it's wilting boughs. No clammy hands, Nor jaundiced face , Trying to grasp swinging rope, No more praying to Jesus, For that last ounce of diminishing hope.
They have long since past. Them quizzical eyes, Gazing at the tyranny of man. Unfurling all his vengeful wicked ways.
What is left now? Only the echos of mercy pleas, And long forgotten phantom screams, Rustling upon withering leaves, Beneath the cool midnight moon.
Flimsy dust, Penetrates my horizon, Floats across My thinking, Lost days, Of nothingness Acceptance, Dilutes, Internal dreams Summer is gone Everything turns To squelchy muck Of pointless wisdom Delusional freedom Enslavement, Pay your Fuckng bills Empty pocket, Glory, Shackled to modernity, I hate it.
The rationalist must reduce, It's in their nature. Pragmatic logic insists, On conformity of thought, Anomalies will not be tolerated, Measurable verifiable data, Equations balanced, Algorithms written, Formulas deduced, Universal laws obeyed,
But shadows still linger, The face behind the face, Unconscious chaos, Irrational processes, That feeds the soul.
Ah but we have no soul,, For logic deems it thus, No individual light, Only predictable Chemical reactions. And biological impulses, And...
Salome of chapel Street, Is trying to bridge the divide between the land and sky. As she dances beneath the wrought iron clock, Caught in a drug induced psychological loop , And her own internal Cosmic techno beat. Her face shape shifts as her electrified Cheek bones twitch , And drool slips from her pouting lips. O salome of chapel Street, Is your reflection your only friend? Do you find sanctuary behind your Concrete curtain eyes? As you slay the dragons of your mind, O salome what betrayal Has fallen upon ...