Friday, March 26, 2010

Mortality's Watered Down Immortality

B/c water makes things worse right?
Never do you hear the burning man complain about being watered-down.
Never do you hear the burning man's voice, only flames speaking in tongues.
Orange and red tipped whips sinuously spreading in threads, on bare skin.
Blue centers hotter than our own core body temperature.
Yellow sparks blacken and die, long lived as may flies, through nitrous wind.

April O'Neil showers then brings Aunt May flowers to lift the glower from her sour puss a dexterous surgeon couldn't eliminate.
Peter Parker picks a pinch of pepper pressed 'tween thumb and forefinger from his tweed overcoat's folds. He's protected from the cold and cooking for good-looking Mary Jane. Her green thumb has nothing on her green tongue; it has tarred her pink lungs black. She will relax in slacks with a glass of ice cool water.

Victoria's a model citizen.
She lives in a slum the first job's paycheck blankets.
Her fatherless baby craves attention only the tv is lazy enough to sit and give.
She collects stamps to pay for Chex cereal and checks her PO box for poor William's alimony (he's not the sperm donor).
After passing out, "I Voted" stickers to suckers she serves her civic duty as the cute girl in a jury.
Other members gather glad to see her and if they were hung with better stature than indecision she'd give them a smile, atleast.
A bit of drip slipped past her lips leaves a trail of dark stains in plain view down her white undershirt.
Worked-up fellas, behaved for da dames, look away physically and mentally shame Vicky with a wet-t-shirt situation.

"Sit u ass down" said the clown w/a frown to the chimp in a gown.
He was trying his gloved hands at untying the pink ribbons.
The ignorant gibbon was resistant.
Not more than 7 minutes to showtime and wouldn't you know the troublesome troglodyte ran about the room, refusing to be stripped of his costume.
Pausing to sniff his finger the wee hairy beast lingered long enough for Eeno the Clown to tear down that gown.
Mr.Bibbons slapped Eeno for being fresh.
Despite the duress, the chimp was changed from a chump to a champ, and Eeno, damp with sweat, watched from backstage while the performance was made.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

No Solutions

Wasn't Jesus love that God above, the greater being, He leaves the righteous recesses of Heaven to lands unleavened, unraised by the yeast of holyness, to raise those below a slight mite closer to his Father's sight with nine inch nail-pierced hands?
Then it is somewhat similar to a parent, devoting his being to raising a child, causing its' virtue to rise in tandem with its' body, maturity keeping up with physical growth.
Yet Jesus had his Father, against who all else is powerless and can not contend against, to reach down and pull him back up. He was like a deep sea diver, needing only to tug on his rope when out of breath to be brought from the depths and returned to a boat's secure deck.
There is no Deliverer for us to call upon.
If you think otherwise, ask yourself, has no woman, in our rape-filled history, called for holy deliverance from her attacker?
Yet you've never heard of a woman angel-saved mid-assault.
Did they say the wrong name? Not call out loud enough? Were they not sufficiently sincere? Was their faith too little? Parents pleading for the lives of their dying, cradled children, did they have bad dharma? Did their kids do evil in a past life? Did they not meditate enough? Are they just distracted by the illusory life of suffering they hold onto? Are we just fools then, the man tortured for intelligence just needs to realize the jumper cables on his testicles aren't real, right? He just needs to ignore that surge of electricity causing his body to spasm, the smell of singed pubes, the cool of the metal, digging and cutting in with a firm grip. Have we not sacrificed enough to some pantheon or spirit, chanted insufficiently, forgotten to burn enough incense or bow enough to carved statutes to be saved from monsoons that carry them away and break them? Were the stars never properly aligned for the old man weak from cancer wishing he could stay around long enough to see his grandchild born? Is it the law of attraction? Did African children have getting raped on their mind all day before the jeep full of soldiers pulled up? Is it for lack of governance? Did we just need a politician to grant his blessing to be healthy forever, free from poverty, and fulfilled? Don't our votes make them gods? How big an army do we need to stop thieving? Our scientists are saviors? Should the boy bleeding out from a stray bullet have studied harder in school so the lead wouldn't pierce his flesh? Did we not give enough of our earnings to laboratories writing down measurements of cow farts to gain the cure to aging? Did the man who ate his wife's poisoned dinner plate not believe enough in the goodness of his fellow man? Was his love too small, the flowers he bought too few?

With nothing above us to appeal to, when we lower ourselves, we may raise others, but we stay low. We have no friend sending angels to roll the stone from our graves. There is no tree under which we'll finally reach enlightenment. Our father wasn't Shiva, finding a loophole in a blessing so our arrow will slay the enemy of heaven. The plan for our life is our enemies, our rulers, they could always use more slaves.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Kids' Heavy Eyelids

This life don't begin never
finishes off far before it gets better
your heavenliest days fall by the wayside
leased out at the cost of a lowered guard
debts of downers hit more hard
if you're dead inside make the outside match
life's a virus the universe did catch
and we mechanically splinter more than last
various multipliers in a boundless satchel
cracking the coffin lid on the past
waking sleeping dogs which do tell
in yowls, howls, and voided bowels
how they fear the phantom stranger
absent yet approaching.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Eye Rich

You're a blighter, a bleeder, an old pickled egg eater
and I knew you was bad from the first
I've had rivets and privets dropped in ta my spirits
by far and wide your bald lies are the worst

like a rat led by a fife
I let you guide my life
staying in my house
'til we be wed man and wife
you played timid mouse

I work on the docks
moving package box
and barely pause at the pub
before seein my luv

You're a bleeder, a blighter, a godless man-spiter
and I knew you was bad from the first
I've had fevers and flowers left for kin spirits
by far and wide your bald lies are worse

I seen your sweet cheeks bore a whore's marker
your pretty face had a touch of disgrace
painting your lids a shade darker
to age your tender young frown

knew you'd be good for fookin
when I had my first look
and with you cookin
my rest could be took

came home and sure enuff
you were sweaty in the buff
as the neighbors had told
you liked fellas real old

before you could plead 'meister'
I kicked out your keister
poonched the jaw that had kissed her
and slammed the damn front door
I knew it was comin
but I was dumb and done in
I should've thrown her out earlier

You're a blighter, a bleeder, an old pickled egg eater
and I knew you was bad from the start
I've had rivets and fevers in my few years
but your wild lies were the worst part

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Physically Online, Mentally Shutting Down

For every killer there's a fan.
For every achiever a hater.
Man's coveted by woman,
teens by children,
adults by teens.

For every sin there're practitioners and intellectual inexperienced supporters.
For every good there're failures attempting and quitters denouncing.
For every work there's an inheritor, whether he knows his father or no.
For every thought there's an external prompt; where are you?

Palaces turn to ruins to visit.
Away from many you're freer to act and it's harder to get supplies.
In the midst of the hoard a hole bore hews you to the board of law and cultural norms.

A martyr needs a persecutor.
[A helicopter hovers outside].
I'm too tired to write.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Racket

Buzzing saws dust trees,
windy tubes blow leaves,
clippings on the street,
complete the clean homes.

At high frequencies,
dowstairs tv screens,
not once getting sleep,
ring out constantly.

Pups outside past dark,
will howl, growl, and bark.
Birds with voices sweet,
in morn early tweet.