dormant
abstract, do the math
it’s a conversion of sorts
waiting for winter
in the embrace of
insulting poetry
ready to breathe
models of me, abnormality
stop calling to the birds
sharpen your claws
and watch the cat fly
edit your episode
as the moments drift by

there’s a man
down the street
building strange monuments
in his garage
a tribute to awkward gods
with visions of futility
and an untitled rant
on his lips
he wonders
where are all the fat zombies?

constant interaction
too much change
all at once, and
my complacency is all
shaken up
marked and scarred
and dropping beneath the
low tide of reason
it’s a zero sum game
and the end is
always around the corner

calamity and consumerism are
capitulating the cabaret
of communism as we
wait, whitewashed, and wasted
with no thought for tomorrow
we’ll get what we deserve

smoke, poke, and joke,
hiding under a dirty cloak
i invoke
the wind
stained with tar
winding down the road with
a rifle and a chainsaw
as
faceless men
and
graphic women
set the stage with casual glances
it’s a new sort of heaven
incomplete and rushing through
as the chalkboard is erased
set to remain blank indefinitely

some men hear and some men see
i missed the moon
shot in 1080p
as a great writer calls forth visions
with which others might disagree
but of all these words
only one is a mystery to me