the first night of the last

one too many beers
slouched and waiting for creativity
with sharpened knives
as resistance soothes the savage soul
and i feel as though i can’t write
rested in the sweet sleep
of formaldehyde dreams

lazy hands refuse to stir
and i’m sitting here
with a twitching eye
watching pretty women
from a distance
poetry is lyrical mysticism
summoned from
an unseen and internal void
and cast upon the world
with interpretive intent

i try to forget
splattered on
dirty pavement
broken and
left for dead
as life plays out
like a predictable movie script
with cutaway scenes
of misdirection
shaped with
distant spells
that spill
over the edge
of some fan made dream
and sometimes i think
it’s better to drink
and run naked in the forest
than to put your heart on the alter
of submissive sacrifice

satan as a comic prince
seated in
a samurai saloon
taunting me
in the face of
temporal obscurity
ohh if only you could see
this dominant insecurity

and now, we wait for the ovation
as cosmic clowns
claiming fame,
poverty, and
pockets of delayed diversity
march in tune
with repetitive madnesses

all of this is
nothing more than
rolled cigarettes and
daily routines
manifested in
predetermined themes
of unholy schemes
tearing at the seams
and waiting for a petulant end
as saintly circles
are salted and sanctioned
for sultry salesmen

too drunk to write
i retired to bed
only to be summoned
by lingering words
lost on blank pages
never let those ideas slide

please forget this rapid carnival
and forgive this rapacious doubt
i am
no longer bitter
but resigned
to a black obscurity



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