For Tomorrow (that we would do as much as you would)

nastiness on the internet
television full of fools
double-speak on the radio
hate on the telephone
wish it all blows away
in the radioactive snow

horns honk
brakes lock
stocks fall
a repeating
state of shellshock

pretend hope of families
left behind feelings
of youth
no wonder so many
become riddled
with trifled medicine

swaths of bristled insincerity
luxury vanity insecurity
bugs in your home
and under our skin
jewels of memory
taken by pirates
buried forever in a cheap tin

blinds drawn
in the pool of chemicals
for the golden dawn
innocence strip-mined
by soulless trappers
doomed ourselves with plastic bottles
and candy wrappers

take another breath
take another deep breath
for tomorrow

We Can Always Meet Again In Dreams

Unfinished / Obvious / Violence(theme)

Dad are you there?
Yeah, I know
you never answer
but take a look at things
the state of things
would make you think again

the well oiled machine
drifts into stasis
erases the achievement
of those lost in the past
no mountain escapes antiquity
the end of all things
nothing is ever
built to last

when I look in the mirror
half of you looks back in
the split second before
the lights go out and
I look away

could you tell me
when the other bookend
is coming for everyone
I'd trade places with you
but that's beyond on the pale
and you're trapped
in a metal book
instead of floating
on the sea with
a thousand sails

from a father
to a child,
who is knocking at the door,
would you come and see?
the shadowy outline
there at the doorway
is it really me?
let those tears roll
paint memory away
you can make this energy
whatever you need it to be
but its time
to let it all go
like a madness halo
like an angel melting in the snow.
-------

thank you vini for violence*

Blues For The Divine Flesh (in 3 parts)

chasing sensation
the notion
of floating
across cities
escaping
what's left of
your imagination
suddenly
a bright light catches
your eye
and you're
hoping that this
flight gives you
the truth.

-------------------

castigating wretchedness
amongst scores
of butchers
hooks, crooked
in tandem with the
dreams of
the damned
sides of bacon and ham
and the last tiny voices
of an animal's
death rattle
and cry
the elixir against
the unknowable,
the toast to all
trapped animals
small pens
like us
trying to escape
but running in place
those forgotten faces
the final solution
of the master race.

--------------------

and its
transitory
50 is the
new forty
a shortage
of exploratory
courdoroy rivers
racing across
acres of tundra
wonderful mountains
caught up in wales
and the winds
of this beautiful
august.