Prison of Flesh

Driven to madness long ago
Unsure as to cry or kill
But vigilante is a dead occupation
in a world in balance, tipping
so far in the wrong direction

Too many fell into the program
Too many hands got greased
Too many fell to their knees

and for what?

But to fill their lives and gullets
with shit, then discard
what they can't finish 
and complain about their health
as thousands of children die weekly
of starvation in Somalia
too far from their gluttony
for them to show empathy
or even a thought

I am no saint
I too shall pay full price
for time spent on sin
I've heard of no settlements
being offered for Karmic debt

As I have served my self
I'll serve my time

in this prison of flesh

Postpartum Part-time Penitentiary Blues

Currently serving time
in a medical research complex,
plotting escape as I labor, ever vigilant
of cameras and exit signs,
less secure than Alcatraz,
the sharks less menacing,
Far less distinguishable
and humanity has given way
to intellect, the worst thing
to happen to western culture
since the white man evicted
the natives from their homeland.

I've witnessed more love

in jailhouse showers,

in boarded up crack houses,

on whore occupied street corners,

among vagabonds beneath overpasses

and yet the smug pseudointellectuals

seem to be the only ones making bail.

Sequestered

hps-street-lighting-groton-connecticut

Pre-florescent streetlights

Coat the dark asphalt a dull orange

Once a soft white, the bulbs

Now worn and weathered

Like the flesh that wraps

Round these battle-weary bones and

The noise pollution and human stink

Has yet to contaminate my day

That dry time, where

The wind’s whisper is free to speak

And I can listen

And not think

 

21st Century Love

human-heart-image

Love is a searing hot piss
after a night in the city

Love is a whore
at the end of the bar

Love is a 3rd abortion
Love is extortion

Love is a temp agency
receiving applications

Love is bleeding out
from the wound of an arrow

Love is a one-act play
penned by a Hallmark employee

Love is an ugly lie
from a pretty face

Love is the Devil's cut
not the angel's share

Love is a product
manufactured and sold
Love is cold

Love is a drowning polar bear
when the glaciers melt
Love is preached, rarely felt

Love is a download
in a programmed life

Love is a rabid animal
with a vicious bite

Love's not at the Gym
Love doesn't work out

Love is bizarre
Love is doubt

To the Working Class Slaves of Tomorrow

I'll begin by saying ...congratulations
and welcome to unreality
or Hell as I call it.

If your only aspirations are
to accumulate wealth and fit-in
simply acquire a trade or degree,
groom yourself to televised standards,
attain an occupation
based purely on monetary gain,
step on a few heads along the way
and gently plant your lips
upon a corporate ass
and you'll do just fine.

But if you aspire to actually live
within the real world
drop everything you know
or think you know, unlearn,
fulfill your end of the bargain
but have integrity and bow
to no man or woman,
read anything you can grasp,
have no limits in life or love,
lift those that lie below,
tear the insolence from those above.

Confessions of a Caged Animal

Many people say they like it here
for the changing of the seasons.

I prefer the changing of the guard dogs
post to post, they know all too well
my patterns and scents.

It's harder to cover your tracks
than the track marks left behind
in the wake of self-gratification
and liquid dreams.

Even more difficult to stay afloat
in a sea of greed.
Though a heavy heart's a useful life raft
even flooded with emotional baggage.

The seasons will change everywhere anyhow.
So I adapt, roll with the punches,
defend the shakedown,
deny the takedown
and make visible God's breath.

Till the final bell cracks,

liberty or death.

Infertile Progression

crhym2

Random acts of blindness, visible
even to the untrained eye

To look away, look down
at their cellular phone
that never seems to leave their hand
Anything to avoid eye contact
Where a smile may have to be returned
without a receipt
or a mouth may have
no greeting to repeat
Common defense mechanism
of the common fool
as common and courtesy 
have been divorced for some time now
after common bedded down ignorance

Seems when humans stop breeding

We'll have solved the problem

Serene

 

Before most of the weary world
Returns from slumber
Before the bustle
Before the false
You feel life in everything
A universal pulse
Earth living and breathing or
Emitting trumpets of pain,
Trumpets of change
Like a free-form composition
Moving you through
Possessing you to

Lose your mind
Ground the body
Tame your desires
Whitewash the canvas
Fears to the fires

Numbskull

Modern man (numbskull)
So programmed with bad division
thinking life so simple
that everyone and everything
can be grouped, categorized
as good or evil and
you'd better choose the right side
or was it the left?
or whichever side
doesn't get you beaten and raped
Better be safe and choose the side
of modern man who
steals electronics during a blackout,
bathing suits during a whiteout
and products to get the grey out
of their hair, their lives
Putting so much effort
into their strange battle against aging
that they forgot how to live
a battle lost to striving
stretching skin, stretching jeans
stretching useless traditions
and bad habits
to pass on to the children
they've left in the street
bred to be the next
modern man or woman
growing up hopeless and bitter
making the same mistakes
generation after generation
learning how to die
before they're dead