The Zombie, God and Lust

all my inhibitions left outside the door
replaced by all my moral decay, swept up from the floor.
all my timely habits - revolving ‘round my God
replaced by all the chaos, deceit, distrust and fraud.
all my evolving wisdom - the root of all my pride
all my intelligence countered - by all these ancient lies.
(and still no pity for my pain)

all my inhibitions that I so kindly left behind
stand me up and set me straight and push me near the line.
instantaneous retrospection before my judgment seat
shall take me back some twenty years, to taste, by hell - its’ heat.

all the inspiration, in men, who found their death
urging the rest to ‘battle’ - to ‘the cause’ if nothing less.
all the chasing, all the plotting to arise the human soul
leaving none, save sorrow - to fill these jagged holes.
all the words bending - inside the human mind
spew out the lips and burn the ears of those we left behind.
(we ‘kindly’ left behind)

yet still (we toast these traditions, our customs, idols and lore)
making me pause to wonder - what is all the killing for?

perhaps, something we could never face: all the faults of man?
something He could never halt, by His flawless hand?
all the hate we nourished, plant seeds then went along
countered by a few old verse (that told us it was wrong)
and the countless children, marching
straightly - to the tune of fear
wrapping chains around their hearts
afraid of crying their ‘poisonous’ tears
(afraid of crying)

and all our inhibitions, trampled to the dust
perpetuated by our hate, the zombie, God and lust

1990

Silver, Glassy Cages

Dimmer comes the morning’s wake
divided, by demons, and the
Monster’s take -
mastered, perpetual
betwixt,
the after math and daily hope (the overdose)
and the gone, rank - better half.

Running, panting
outside silver glassy cages
gently begs the record of (nonsense)
on broken pages -
powered by heightened rages -
a spotlight on moldy toothpick stages
the ‘dead’ bought and sold
cracked hands of (narcotic) sages.
bounded by foot
chained to truths - faded

(is that all we leave on our plates?)
to call, hence, a circle of footprints
a worthy stake?

The Monster comes -
stilled, to devour
guarded, by his silver, glassy power.
a congress: of force
guided by a numbed, mis-guided
architect
through the silver, glassy cage
(made whole by demons)
the Monster deems
his take.

So, the best - swim
most drown
under a giant’s thumb - pressed down
An evil sunrise to dark new ages
lies (inside) the addict
of silver, glassy cages.

Meditation: February, 2006

To be damned is never
to taste the melody so sweet.
In this world of illusion
folded over, like an unfurled flag
in shades of magenta.
Oh, how it tries to be real
but remains, cardboard cut-outs.

This one more death is personal:
I, downed by a man in a
black derby,
dirty blonde hair,
missing two teeth.

Everyone wants to be in the spotlight
that shines from beyond the clouds.
Strange isn’t it how any of us could
be so excited about this realm.
A golden age, fool’s gold.

It’s a slaughtered mess;
a butchers shop, this life.
I am a chameleon that remains safe
always, scarlet red.
All the while the jaws snap quickly at me,
piranha quick.

And through the twisted gums
and broken teeth, the demon says:
“Start from scratch, you could be so much more.

I understand the implication
but his bargain is bare;
his logic is a debate
over a three sided square.