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A few poems (sort of)

Updated on March 3, 2017

weariness with words
is what drives me to write

from Jerusalem
from the city of Peace
from the place where eternal bombs fall into my deafened ears


if you feel alone, it's because you are
you fell long ago from a star
but even stars feel
gravitational attraction
so never think
that you can't get action


last call
women swimming
transparent dresses
my confessions
i dug real deep
i play for keeps
you've gotta spit your thug on this here beat
just keep up that facade
and sooner or later

the blue fairy will make you a real boy

a real toy
i fake sadness
just so i can fake joy


the end, stasis
stop trying to forge the links
and cut

there are lions all over
this godforsaken trail
not just near the ends
even at the start
and if you don't believe that they are chained
they will tear you apart


the more i disdain you
the more you love me
the less i maintain, you
you trust me
i am left speechless by your grace
which is really not so much your grace
as it is Grace
possessing you to try to save me


my pedantic pretentiousness
is my own
and you sir, have a little less than nothing to do with it


Kerouac, you terrify me
sometimes so much more than Nietzsche
or Crowley
as you are more me
than they ever dreamed to be
if i share in that
must i also share in your suffering?


pathways to ecstasy
take me there
Shiva, god of silence and dance

Dionysus, god of my confusion
lead me into your hypnotic trance

but no
i know
so many gods, i can't tell which way to kneel
my glory, my light, my crystal sunrise
always my fatal heel


the air i breath is corrupt
don't try to interrupt
12 steps, 13 steps
is it all the same?
i speak meaningless meanings
know my name


rambling. mindless drivel
for whoever has ears to listen
ears are not given to the simple
and sight is seen only by the mental


you speak of bullets and blood
and i love you
and respect you for it
but did you know that bullets pierce
bodies not made of flesh? and hurt?
they kill


the water
sitting in the Aquafina bottle

on the floor
in the middle of the room
is the hub of all
the universe

i consume


so i'll call out a warning
to everyone who has the audacity to think they are alive
there is no "life"
there is no "normal"
you can invent words all day long
but you cannot patch the whole (yes, "whole")
yawning in the center of existence

but mark my words closely
my entire message is hope


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