Tagged: drugs

Accumulation

stock-photo-businessman-heavy-workload-sleep-at-office-desk-with-finance-sheet-calculator-and-coffee-concept-277320227.jpg

Fish eyed

stoic reflections.

A little wired

Little crazy.

Wilted ass flower,

Chatted furs

manage to misunderstand.

They drugged Jesus,

The Son

Nauseous with nothing to nibble,

Nothing

 

Far from original sin

Smoking on senile hand rolled slugs

Racing past 

Settling insectile faces

Behind sterile windshield

I need these antithetics

To get through the day

 

The list travels through L.A.

And Tokyo

Coilng around the world

Knotted ball of twine

Each thread the next scroll

Of my prescription

Of prick the fingers,

Make him bleed,

painkillers

 

They whisper it,

Hiding behind sweaty palms

As I stumble to the curb

“DRUG ADDICT”

“HAGGARD DRUNK”

“RAPIST OF THE SOUL”

the roach that go away

 

The sky is stained with exhaust

The strip with buds

Accomplices

In my land

Two layers closer to hell.

Advertisements

Dangerous Naivety

old-books-436498_960_720

Skipped drinking
Never could find a seat
At the bar
Skipped driving
Crashing everyone else’s
Car
The wrists barbed wire
Barbarous world
Convict the girls
If I grow tired
For the male empire
Masculine empire

If I fall
Just look away
Feel the shame
All damned day

If I break
Cherish what’s at stake
Don’t forget to take
What is made
Can’t forget to get paid
The shaking hand staid
Shooting up in the terminal
Flight delayed
Addictions relayed

The children crowd in suburban street
Plastic fork paper plate
Knights of the round table
The soft water burns the pores on my face

I love you most
Ensnared in your curls
The span of your Arms
And the world In Between
The cold sweats of hell
And the burning of thighs parted

Wide eyed

When the child asks,

Why must the dresses burn

And why must a love of literature

Turn me and my agency

To kindling?

Or any curiosity of a child

Wriggling beneath the surface

Just as entitled to the answers

As yourself.
It makes me nauseous too
The way they turn away
Disappointed

Like a disease
The gangrene up her arm
Severed above the elbow
To keep from spreading

Keep very still
Maybe they won’t see
The little creatures
Passing knock knock jokes
At the front of the bus
Their small signs of admiration
Their shadowed affection
Spreads like hellfire

A pleasure to the eye
But nothing “beautiful”
The words buzz like
Time
You get lost in a story
No
A government document
Pit filled, unedited dribble
Only to find you’re dissatisfied
When it ends
Looking back
At the camps
Fondly

The Bureau of Emasculation

jewellery-1639002_960_720

play off reflection, I caught you staring in the mirror,
playing through a bit of high,
but I work hard enough,

it won’t be a problem

always starting at the same time,

always starting too late
the grip feels good in my hand
the rubber against stiff fingers
we wouldn’t want the Callous
they’ve hollowed out the underside
to take away feeling
stuffed with sawdust and formaldehyde
I never could be full enough
good enough for you
sew it shut
sand down the veins
and pare mushroom tip

it wasn’t so long ago
foreskin charms
phallus necklace
earrings always
dangle

Addiction

cigarette-110849_960_720

Isn’t it just like a man?
Sitting, watching the swaying hips
each conniving turn.


She slithers
through the blue cigarette smoke.
I do things differently,
doorways for suckers.
I brace for impact,
through layer after layer
clearing out foundation after foundation
taking years to establish
but moments to dissipate.


She pulls at the meat
twirling it between her fingers
throwing it from her talons
into the air
to her tapered beak.

Could we all be monsters
demon lurking in the night
loitering under street light
looking to the painted faces
and the saber tooth heel?

What could I feed her?
What cherished memories sacrificed
for the next high?

 

 

(I do not support; strongly condemn the type of misogyny in this poetry,(though it is a perspective in society that needs to be addressed) she’s intended to be terrible because of what she represents, NOT because she is a woman.)

My Critique of the Beat Generation (Poem)

stock-photo-confused-clerk-42336550.jpg

Transforming fragility

The center of

Moving

Breathing

Feeling

Life

Bewildered by mistaken

Wilderness

Broken in the backseat

While neon television sets

And an endless assortment of

Drugs

Take shotgun

Leather straps

Tied to the padded

Coffin cushion

And they call me

Prancing through the woods

In the dead hours of the morning

Naked laughter

Endless euphoria

They call me mad

Brandished by green caress

A child of god

Serving a lone soldier

This battle will surely be my last

Against marching, marching, marching

Drones, prioritizing

Without soul

Profiteering

Stripped clean

A big business shopping center

Passing along the tab

Until quack dilly oso

And it’s all over

Until then

I’m getting arrested

Inside Abercrombie

With sagging asshole

And flailing genitals

Millenial Protest Song

protest-438095_960_720

Locked fortress of stone

There’s a fire in your home

We can no longer be patient

No longer docile patrons

The blacks are no lepers

The women no whores

No person illegal

Bathing in the blood

Of the poor

Indignant uproar

Burn burn Baltimore

Chaotic kids

With the crack

At the end of the barrel

The catalyst

Fear of Failure

stock-vector--we-learn-from-failure-not-from-success-bram-stoker-379766602.jpg

We nail the door shut

To blame it on something

In the constellations

We write an elegy

Not to mourn a loved one

But to pull over

Once the airbag is deployed

To pull the trigger

Instead of mortgaging

The next fix

Headless chickens run

With knees blown out

Looking for earth

Plummeting from the sky

 

It seems

We search harder for failure

Than success

The futility of Perfect Poetry

stock-photo-workplace-with-laptop-on-table-at-home-376829140

The futility of perfectionism in poetry

The forever foreboding

Lacking

The waste of pinpointing

A collage of perspective

Wheezing out

A sag of wordplay

Or finding wisdom

Rearrange shit

To spell your name

Whine at loneliness

For the lover

Before you label

It art

Shipped in a

Cardboard box

Next Tuesday

Share a Shake before the End.

Hanging Smoker

To see the world through a haze of smoke

To see the dirt, the hate and the H

Under hungry, haggard finger nail

he’s choking (in) the street

he’s lying (in)to the street.

They stand around

Insectile, rolling withdrawal

Like the turtle crushed the world

Between his shell and the concrete

like a sigh, head hung low

deeply and profoundly insulted

your proudest, deceased relative

that’s all it was

but they hungered for it

clawing off his skin

decaying

tenderloin rack

stripped from the bone

penetrate, barbed cone

slurping marrow marshlands

just to prove

that it was the genes

that’s what made the addict

and that’s what made him weak.

Fingertips cutting off the circulation

one cigarette at a time.

Could I reach the page end?

before gnat beating

unconscious aortic corridor

gives out