secular sound waves
sealed and sold in
sacrificial sagas

we are
hazardous children
ruled by routine
with god signs that are
careless and ineffectual

wanted in thirds
left hanging
or discarded
for carrion birds

beasts of prey
are strung up
or strung out
yet, i refuse to obey

ravaged by uneven space
and ragged handwriting
i’m wandering walls and yards
as one lonely night fades into the next

the representation of guilt
visited me in a dream last night
but i no longer let those ghosts haunt me

it’s a living lie
as we are sentenced to this
dull invention of normal life
punished for sins yet to be committed

revelation, a reflective measure of
daytime television reality
thrown into another
sober and weightless sunrise
with moments that are half spent
and only remembered when drunk

rue the morning mirror
hair cut too short
i haven’t shaved for a week
i’m half a hobo
and dating at 40
is an extinction level event

never sleep
dancing death
creeps and curls
across these
black metal fingers

so, call upon mystic praise
to the notebook and the phone
to the wine and the computer
for they are
sacramental tools
used to help break
substandard rules

sitting on the can, chewing a toothpick
i feel like i could
start a revolution
or just put an end
to all of this
sounds that are all too familiar
tip,tap, scratch
it’s enough to drive a man mad
there’s always a cat
ready to disturb my writing

of radioactive creation
unoriginal, unread, and unaccountable
an artist’s work is never done
and we always return
to an eden of the mind

once again
i’m visited by
a blue screen whore

the words
untitled 5
keep surfacing
i guess the first four creations
just refuse to be seen



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