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the baby dead next to her in the passenger seat and you have to have a sense of humor about these things you have to be willing to drown in ½ an inch of rainwater take a bullet for some abstract god or meaningless idea of duty to country this well-fed asshole going through your pockets while you bleed to death, telling you you’ll be in a better place soon
bleeding into the animal silence, he is neither a god nor a ghost he is an object casting no shadow beneath dull silver skies we are wasting our fucked-up lives waiting for better days
trigger pulled and then laughter dead which is dead no angels, you dumb fucks no afterlife thoughts and prayers as useful as handfuls of shit for the starving
or why not write yr poems on toilet paper? why not spend yr days in a cage in the great outdoors? believe all the dreamers who speak of yr genius tell the jews exactly how much blame should fall on their shoulders dig a hole six feet deep and pull all of yr meaningless words in over you
and what was the cross ever meant to be but an instrument of torture? what is the sum total of westen thought but a cancer? no cure to be found anywhere until all of us are dead
asks him are you really going to spend the rest of your life crying for all of the things that were never yours to begin with? but already knows the answer is already planning the quickest route from HERE to AWAY
boss man says he’s keeping you safe from war, says it’s not rape if your daughter would just learn to shut the hell up and he gives you a blindfold and he gives you a spoon orders you your very own bowl of shit no point in going hungry while we’re waiting for that better future to arrive
whose whore will you be to guarantee yourself a seat at your savior’s table? who will you give your ass up to in exchange a for a handful of brief, fleeting power? how deep will the knife have to go in before the sunlight begins to flow?
the children in cages, their parents in shallow graves a man who will try to sell you on the positive aspects of slavery a mouthful of shit, which will always taste like exactly what it is swallow it down and open wide for more
or this animal silence after the last cop is shot dull silver skies and the flatness of the landscape nowhere to hide really but in the darker corners of your own mind nothing to find there but these ordinary truths
all summer long the sky as dense as luminous dust you breathe in the past and you wait for the future sing the same bitter songs you always have but can never quite figure out what they mean can never quite believe that there are views in this world that matter as much as yours or that sunlight is a gift that silence holds all meaning that true wisdom will always be beyond us
and what the fuck were you thinking, killing yourself over picasso? this is the new century we were supposed to be the only survivors of the next holy war we were supposed to dream in black & green at what point did hope stop counting for anything?
poem on the day you die is no different than any other a rhythm of words, an idea, an admission of love too late too late better luck next time
to kill the man who killed yr father to drink his blood to fuck his children in the kingdom of nil, the future is always now
had the dream of static, the dream of failed connections and burning churches, a headful of crank up on burnt hill road, a knife gripped by the blade, the teeth of the wolf sunk deep into his throat, vultures at his eyes but it was the sun that blinded him it was the baby dead in another room some vital part of the story missing, but he felt too goddamn good to worry about it just then
dead man tells you his joke about the burning child and no one laughs says fuck you and says fuck you and says fuck you but when he goes back home, all the curtains are closed, all the doors locked against him all the women he knew have moved to the coast have vanished after telling him they would always love him and how can you not appreciate the beauty here? how can you not believe that the truth will set him free? just tell him whatever it is that matters the most then take a half-step back
shot in the face by someone other thought “maybe� and then dead then laughter
shot w/ yr father’s rifle and no assholes here, only punchlines only charred gifts from lesser gods
tie this man’s hands together then chain him to the bumper of your pickup truck drag him to his death down the gravel roads of whatever asshole town you call home turn that radio up loud and sing
no power no strength fuck your greed and fuck your blind ignorance fuck every untruth you stand for we have all seen your ruin approaching
young boy on fire and singing beneath the colorless sky all sweetness and regret and where are the people who said they loved him? where is the future that was supposed to grow from his ashes?
the poem written backwards goes nowhere a knife pulled from the wound undoes nothing look the obvious has been known to be true on occasion the suicide offers no higher wisdom and the children ask for no greater meaning things are until they aren’t all governments become the enemies of their citizens given enough time
dead man rides his horse of flames across the great upstate desert leaves the land of nothing at one end for the land of nothing at the other leaves his wife and children in the hope of finding better a full life to be made from the simple joys of fucking and beating
or the ones who would have the truth be flexible do we kill them all and call it vicrtory? is this what we’ve come to?
house on fire in the rain, but it’s too late for that kind of hope sky is silver and then the sky is grey like the weight of regret and if all you can be is beautiful then all i am is lost
need something more real than faith in god dali, maybe, in his bed of flames or the president overdosed and dead on some hooker’s bathroom floor a punchline that never gets old a knife deep in the throat of the priest who raped your son just keep drinking his blood until you get your fill
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