Call to Arms

Snake Tongued

Standing up there giving his grandiloquence,
doesn’t anyone see it as ponderous?
Words are his snakes, causing blind consequence
so cover your ears to be one of the courageous.

The Gray Of Consequence

Dall’altra Parte

The sun is mocking me as it sinks low,
Beneath the horizon promising me,
Another night where beauty does not see,
Terror lurking all over and below;
Summer’s heat is jaded (going away)
Leaves shriveling up taking away shade,
Exposing everything to what has been made:
Beauty becoming a slattern each day,
By sable lands ruthless tongues borne on wind,
That they themselves forsake the evil within,
Which we entrap in the deep of the night-
So we run, we die from our time sinned-
It catches up with us creating a din,
Cutting us (faster then time’s scythe) with might.

Uncharted Sea

Leave Me Here

I left the lights on
made promises on the wind;
Unknown to us both, this simple dark con
Plaguing us of what we couldn’t find;
The promises I broke apart.
“Without purpose?” you say through tears.
I can’t tell sweetheart,
so get out of these affairs.
I can’t stand seeing the pain I’ve inflicted.
Leave me here to be alone-
Leave me here evicted!
I’ll sit here in the unknown
not deserving of a second chance.
I beg of you not to think of me.
Just wave goodbye leaving your broken stance.
This lesson you’ve been given is a guarantee,
for you to move forward into a better romance.

Down On Parker Lane

The Slow Drift Away…

The slow
Drift
Away
Begins on harsh whispers
Never fully formulated
But ever present in the eyes
Violently screaming the unspoken truth
Oh so loud-
-SO LOUD it’s left creating
The slow
Drift
Away

(repeat)

There is this dream I have…

This dream I have, begins and ends in a building.
Just me and five other men who are all now dead.
All inspirations to me but stuck doing the same job as I do.

There is Ginsberg,
Stroking his cock and balls
Explaining the benefits of enrolling.

There is Poe,
All dark and Goth
Refusing to call people because his crying will stop, nevermore.

There is Kerouac,
The ringleader even here
Smoking his joints, writing from memory and not fucking caring.

There is Thompson,
Feverishly writing
Chronicling every detail somewhat drunk-mostly tripping.

There is Bukowski,
looking like shit-drunk and lonely-
fucking some broad at his desk, groaning not talking.
Then there is me
Trying to work
But utterly failing with this cacophony so damn deafening.

This Dream I have, I think it’s telling me something.
These 5 men are sending me subliminal frequencies.
But that’s a secret that I wont let out here.

The Lord Wept

The Lord wept
Cold and weary
Done and spent.

The Lord wept
for his land
salted and burned.

The Lord wept
For his people
Raped and murdered.

The Lord wept
For riches
Wasted and robbed.

The Lord wept
For his wife
Kidnapped and killed.

The Lord wept
And wept
And wept.

The Lord wept
Forever
Contemplating and thinking

The Lord wept
Forever
Guilty and contrite.

The Lord wept
Forever
Dead and buried.