part 1: names of chance

run around the sunrise
the slaves continue to sing
as scattered atoms of inaction
curse a thousand obsolete laws
as ancient owls,
perched in tattered trees,
wait like pastime gods
for the chance to kill
or to impart
an impartial wisdom
upon distant viewers
of ruptured memory
polluted factory ghosts
remember railroad ghosts
greeted halfway in-between
by a mad golfer
waving war-like warnings
at foolish children
lost in the distance
and the names of chance
are scrawled in shady temples
obscured by half-hearted vendors
of stolen promises
and quick fixes

part:2 and when they’re gone

souls wired to a restless receiver
all of our houses, now
are closed off from the world
and almost empty
so, we write
cryptic nonsense
in the hopes of
sponsoring love
something soft
something final
wave form
free form
simply silent
at the height
of sanity’s sight
what if the future was safe?
what if it wasn’t spent
on wasted trinkets
like so much discarded change?
perhaps these restful visions,
stronger the the seven bells of hell
will dance across paper eyes
revealing a phoenix
of morning killing poems
and lead us to something
a bit more obscene
because all our epics are gone

part 3: fantastically fucked

we gotta push these crazy numbers
all the way
because
the mail is dead
and winter is coming
sometimes when the chemicals take hold
the mind becomes free and clear
i like living on the fringes
of acceptable society
i watch and walk among them
these plastic people
bleeding from wounds
too small to see
it feels good to be a freak
and sometimes suffering is necessary
even if it’s misspelled
sometimes you can learn
to balance yourself on the knife’s edge
flipping coins in traffic fire
do you want to be free?
it doesn’t take much
an open mind
a dirty heart
and a blazing soul
hunted we
refuse
resist
and readjust
to their dead ideologies
because on this
temporary training ground
our cold hands are meant
to create something new