4:04 pm
and the error is
always present
forget this wholesome tragedy
mapped to the wrong side
of a tangent page
we eat, we drink
we fuck, we sleep
and work is often
just an afterthought

new beginnings often taste
like rusted endings
perhaps it’s just fiction
feeding on another
forensic holiday
or maybe we’re just organized
in a disorganized way?

closed down and ready
for another circular day
it’s a slow roll
towards nothing special
how is it that we recite
these stolen spells
before scurrying back
to our many pointless routines?

curse this predictive programming
watching humanity slowly drift
into a sedated form of mental slavery
i want them to resist this scamdemic
but i’m tired of writing this graveyard cast
will you help me fight this dusty decay
i don’t have any secret treasures
or machine washed medications to offer
just fractured poems
written by candlelight
so send me a quiet reminder
of better days

the newspapers preach
anesthetized and desensitized
compassion
dull and deceptive
with blisters like broken rose petals
and there’s a hole in the sky
no sun, no moon, no stars
just shadows that resemble
calypso cats
caught
in a curious eclipse

so don’t reboot the soul
reinvent it,
live slightly out of phase
and stretch beyond this beautiful disaster
towards absolute freedom
embrace elusive emotions
and create floods
of salacious spirituality
to drown the living dead

fuck this quiet isolation
fuck this respectable seclusion
the common good is just
another selfish illusion

in muted circles let us pray
that the old gods spit
on this preposterous notion of
“the new normal”
granting us garage day celebrations
as we discard our delicate dispositions
in favor of twisted tactics
to turn the tide

purge belief
and with any luck
we’ll roll with thunder
enjoying one more novel dream
before we finally hit the road