spectral bebop
lines written within limbo
and signaled towards infinity
with creative playlists
another year passes
are we, closer to something new?
inverted microphones
with stones among bones
the nights are long like knives
pressed against
the heart of the matter
and held hostage
to the substance of soul
with serendipity, serpents surround
our sacrificial sanity
and under midnight skies
we are mesmerized
painted with passion,
blood, and fury
as we populate the premise of
purgatory and prematurity
with a pagan ritual of penance
in this perfect moment
reluctance, as
monday calls forth
another wide beast
and the end always comes quicker,
quieter, than expected
sagittarian streets are weathered
whispering white lies
as winter slows the mind
and feeble men
pretend to manipulate time
lions wake in sudden exclamation
no coffee, no redemption
sorrow always grips me
in these early morning hours
so, reach out and touch
yourself
remember the miles of mishap
and pray for a more quiet mistake
warlock, warlike
with a warning louder than
the wavelengths of wayward webcasts
saviors and sideshow freaks
preach a mean technique
saved and forgotten twice
as we roll the dice
i remember a costume party
in the desert arcade
with wandering cats
staring down one another
amidst private accolades
as maddened minstrels
sang a faint tune
helplessly chanting
in hopes of chasing away
an unkind moon
i spoke to the crow
under the harsh caress
of evening rain
she voiced her concern
for the state of man
so progressive, so violent
unconcerned and undeterred
“man has forgotten
the face of the mother”
vacancy deterred
as vagabonds vacation
with vicarious vocabulary
in the false validation of
remanent valediction
critical mass
they killed our minds
with fascist entertainment
and now we are waiting
for a homeless parade
as creatures with odd features
dance in fields of deadly nightshade
tongues lashing lips
in motions hardcore
so once more
we adore the decadent chore
within a hazy downpour
to underscore
the songs of an troubled troubadour
tongues lashing lips
in motions hardcore
so once more
we adore the decadent chore
within a hazy downpour
to underscore
the songs of an troubled troubadour
