I faced the shit-stained
vision of God,
and trembled with fear.
The protagonist
was wrought with
a picture of Jazz,
and sex, and lies,
and the cool perspective
of a man
apart from reality,
making his own decisions.
Isn’t that right, Jesus?
Isn’t that right?
I wept out the
Cardinal Sin of
a virtuous pipe organ
and let is spill
its blood,
oh so gently.
Those bastards
never saw it coming:
“Someone’s got to
be wrong” they shouted.
Neon sign
apple bottom burst
from the dark specter
of an obtuse society,
renewed from everlasting
grace.
Damned if I know
how it got there.
Damned if I know
that you care.
They feed him
lies,
and yet
I must stand
agape with
him.
Where did the ironclad
laws of my forefathers go?
Dressed up.
Laid nicely before
a generation
that took what it ordered
signed the check,
signed the tabletops,
with the burning desire
to be right.
Fucked up junkies.
Scratching the spot
of the needle.
Don’t you follow the ten?
- Clean thy needle.
T.V.--shit.
Numbskulls at the office
preparing a fresh batch
of delusions
and escapism.
Paper cup
“Throw the trash
away Amigo!”
He shouted
shooting the Taco Stand.
And where did we escape to?
The unknown desert
of the internet.
The last shoddy
empire of
porn.
Sex-cam photoshoped
ipods, drumrooollllll
tetris.
Dream a dream Jesus,
because nowdays
you might just
strum a
guitar--
Hippie fuck.
And I can’t sit still.
On a plane,
motherfucker.
So I
just move
my
pen.
So I just move
my pen.
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