Clean up on Aisle J


Actually, it’s high time
Long over due to tell the truth
For some kind of change
An entire year spent
Bent entrenched in some strange
Chain of events
Solemn and deranged
Lost in transmigration
A gradual progression
between living and dying
Continually regressing
Distressing
Numbing never crying
Nor mourning a loss
Paying the cost for existence
At everyone else’s
insistence that Life Must Go on
Drilling through the core
of each night,
Just to run away from every dawn
Moving like a queen
Making a scene
To discover
Nothing but a pawn in bishop’s cloak
It’s about time
Long over due I’m here to tell you
this era of shadowy death awoke

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Time time time will tell


And so I said, I

I said to him

I just don’t think we can be friends,
ya know?
It’s nothing personal.

It’s just that every thing you say and do,

contradicts the point of view you profess
to be the core of who you are.


It’s not,

It is not that I hate you or even

think you’re a hypocrite.

What you purport to believe in

is certainly legitimate.

It’s just

Well, I think you might be full of shit

and perhaps maybe just unaware of it.

Time awaits your discovery.

You may grow into the truth eventually

Someday possibly you may even see

The errors of your ways.

Until then I am unsure so,

It’s probably best that I should go

Give you space and room to grow

Who knows? It could take years or days.

And should we by chance,
meet again

A new friendship we might begin

After wisdom sets in to reveal

To you the truth and you choose
what’s best for you is the pursuit
of what is infintely real.


Cockroach


Is there solace for the prodigal savant
Searching for light in the darkest of hollows
Alone in starkness, surrounded by the enemy
smothered by enmity that follows them
hauntingly like a ghost
from room to room, life to life
day to day casting shadows
Myopically arrested;
the apotheosis of neurosis
no sleep for weeks, in a smoky daze of
soul crushing Kafkan psychosis
Do not look for me there, my friend,
I have long ago since faded.
Remember fondly, how the soul shined like a sun,
before the world invaded.


Blindness


Unnoticed.
By the day to day.
Drifting into nothing.
Wasting away.
Not a soul aware nor one word spoken.
No one can see the broken fragments of what used to be.
The charade of the century.

Is the truth what is seen? Quite the contrary.
That facade is manufactured.
Designed to parry presumptions
that have left a soul maimed and fractured.
Tessellated into monochrome, lost in Purgatory.
No book cover once ever told the entire story.

With every oat of praise;
each fertile crop of sycophancy
erects another blockade in the maze
Escape becomes a fantasy.
The price of the performer; the show must go on.
Unmatched in the craft of convincing dusk is dawn.

Days go on forever
The nights are twice as long
A picture of perfection by design
with a foundation appearing strong
Nothing’s ever as good as it seems from the start
Reality built on the visions of dreams still fall apart.

Beauty is in the eye of those who behold
fueling fires in the ego mold,
without a trace of irony
only to leave the soul out in the brutal cold of a
superficial tyranny.
As the super novae dies alone out in the universe of darkness
Quixotic allure starves unrecognized; fading into starkness


Civilization


Engulfed in the thrall of perception
Shackled by the addiction
to outside forces; self deception
Ambushed by unfettered mass affliction
from every direction
turning inwards
until the war becomes internal.

Dig a tunnel and it caves.
A wall too high to scale.
Live out the days; dig your own graves
Crave thirstily the unholy grail
filled with salt water as your reward
from the overlords of the infernal.

Running faster, jumping higher
Never get ahead.
Gather brush, light the pyre.
Perhaps fire can destroy the dread
that haunts day and night, paralyzing the senses
into atrophy.

The only escape must be death.
This tunnel has no light.
Longing for that final breath.
Fatigued from a constant fight
in the face of hypocritical demoralizing pretenses
wreaking catastrophe.

This, surely is not, how life was meant to be.


My Love


Where have you gone, my dear old friend?
I’d love nothing more than to spend a day or three
in your company.
Are you mad with me? I’d expect it.
Lately, you are the most neglected
focus of my life, what with the
strife and et alii, all which
keep me very busy.
You’ve no idea how much I miss you.
I could kiss you.
I miss your warm embrace.
The smile you put on my face
after spending the night with you.
Just the thought makes my heart race,
what can I do,
to persuade you to come visit me soon?
I will wait with bated breathe;
as long as I live, until my death,
sowing what I reap.
A fugitive held hostage from respite
Please come and find me, my love.
I miss you dearly, Sleep.


Sick


Adored by many, hated by some; loved by each and all.
Worshipped and despised by the very same.
Hoping to see the fall.
Or capitalize on the fame.
Often both; in ways large and small, no matter the cost;
kill the artist, the art is lost.
Along with the cure.

Blithely dismiss all of humanity
for the sake of the inanity of establishment
and an agreed upon illusion.
This cultlike collusion for mediocrity
will not be tolerated and shall be destroyed.
On behalf the institution of truth.
Kshatryia has been deployed.
The path of a tornado; unavoidable revolution.

Feed on greed and the seeds you plant
will grow as weeds
nourished by your selfish slant of give me over
let me,
take and take.
How much does anyone need for heaven’s sake?
There is so much more at stake,
words will never trump deeds.

Exceed and lead, numbers, charts.
At the top, fall apart.
Give and give, never stop.
Glimpse a view from the very top.
Work and work and then drop; never claiming the prize.

More than a piece of you dies; lost most of you long ago.
Still never let it show, never disappoint,
Never asked to be annointed.
Don’t recall being appointed, yet responsibility even so;
is quite inescapable.

How far does the bodhi tread?
Until they are dead? No path will be denied.
Walk into the rip tide, swim to the other shore.
What you do is not always what you are here for.


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