a dysfunctional miracle

cascading failures
caught in the shadow of
parasites and forgotten martyrs
separate we bloom
carried forward by
the momentum of
absolute zero

where are all the
sun-tanned saviors ?
where are all the
wardress women?
and where is this american dream
that we were promised

were i as old as
this colossal tree
towering before me
would i stand
so tall and proud?

in the depths of these muted moments
i can still hear the gods of old
whispering plots of panarchy
as they watch and wait
for me to kill
this new vision

bait and switch
as sullen sailor dogs
skulk these bounded highways
carrying beats in
ballistic backpacks
this is no time for functional calamity

embracing the spirit of the snake
i could scout these vain
and probable outcomes
till the sun refused to rise

rhythm and the blur progressed un-obsessed
arrested by this chemical life
and ruled by a cabalist calendar
is he a clown, a priest, a bum, or a poet?
born to document, observe
and eventually
die alone
will he anticipate or participate?

overdrawn and underpaid
forget this world and remember another
raving and craving something more
let us gather oblique tools of
creation and destruction
as false fate grants us
one last chance
to unite the tribe of creativity
even the crazy fuckers
find true love (or so they say)

underworld
shaman honeymoon
attuned
in a cartoon afternoon
don’t let them destroy
these towering souls

disrupt and mix up
gather the reject brigade
and place strategic pawns
on the plains of dawn
rape consumer palaces
plant seeds of r(E)volution
and summon a riot of singing voices
marching straight through
houses of the holy
into the mirrored night
as you dance to the rhythm of
your own labored breathing

transmogrification
we’re getting stranger everyday
as the call of the loon
echoes across a smooth distance

in a dream they tried to commit me
friends, family, and men in insipid suits
came to usher me
towards some semblance
of fatal submission
resist
hiding in plain sight
i learned to play their game
and now, watching through a star-lit
one-way mirror
i wait for a holy storm
to wash away
their stained currency

340-a-dysfunctional-miracle

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