and so this is 300

this should be something special
but instead it is composed of
tales and trails of
wholesale reanimation
set in this blissful and fleeting point
of an infinite rematch
searching faces
and revealing

i have a new cigarette machine
smooth and stress-free
and finally
the beer has returned to me
so once again i am
discarded and wandering
amidst the corruption of free will
as i
battle a familiar foe
caught in the throes
of exaggerated anticipation
and i know
how to revive and survive
as i devolve and revolve
around a warped roulette wheel

faint lamp light and two monitors
locked and gazing
i’ve been here once or twice before
i’m struggling to write something new
something unobstructed by morality
and the lack of privacy
how can the future forgive the past

rolling subconsciously
with eyes glazed like glass
we stare down an elongated and dirty urinal
waiting for the next wave
and satan is just a lonely poet
fabricating fables that conspire to inspire
and undo the present terms of salvation
but oh, how i love his lure
don’t let that flame burn too hot

i’m a ladies man
embraced by the subtlety of a whore
i’ve drank a lot of women
and fucked a lot of wine
lost in  fire trances and
musical escapes laced with
the promise of fevered dreams
winded in animated strokes
of flesh upon flesh
with four eyes turning into two
and two minds melding into one
primitive communication
immaculate consummation

and yet i am still a revenant
conversing with a bearded man
who is a fan of sticks
watching as he squats behind a building
waiting for something big to happen

red on black with
screams of white
i woke up dark
and the battle had already begun
mother nature set her cruel tone
but i love the grey skies and sullen hues
of hearts and minds overgrown

sitting lonely by the television
and rolling death
i hear an asylum song for the people
as bodies are matched and merged
with the memories of age

we spend days cruising up silent avenues
littered with fast food
and retail madness
watching cars recycled
into uncertain destinations
and i wondered
how many of them were criminals
how many of them were lovers
and how many of them were lost
the switches were set
and the signal was absent
as we struggled to remember what was real
distractions and conglomerate animations
threatened what little sanity we had left
and then she spoke to me
don’t give up yet

focus on the sun
and the melody of
a reluctant prophet
composed in a beautiful disaster
of digital and sonic
echoing voices

misplaced colors mapping the shape of souls
there is a new conquest
a chance to move past the game
towards something better
reluctant and reserved
the first time was unaccounted for
in hyper lanes of an alcohol mist
there’s still an open candle
and an empty pack of cigarettes
resting recklessly on the nightstand

deceased grass with red tin can dreams
i’m stranded once again
and it’s better to write
free form
through patience may we pacify
this painful and impulsive beast

and now we come to the end
is this 300?
it feels monumental yet arbitrary
the text is beginning to rot on my hard drive
where do i go?
in this moment it seems that
only the cats can saves us
purring with the beautiful vanity
of divine children
these stories always end the same
with the celestial wisdom of a tiny
black and white beast
resting in my lap
she is trying to lead me somewhere
beckoning me to some other reality
one text could undo this all



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