song

 

[i got something to say that will hurt you in time]

 

given enough time, everything beautiful is laid to waste

 

NEW WORK

TAP INTO POETRY

[you've gotta plant them seeds and watch 'em grow]

 

st. amanita, who appears in moments of despair

 

i don't think you really understand

 

or maybe the prophet gets it all wrong

 

lucifer, alchemy, cathedral

15 and stoned, you were

writing about the war and he was

bleeding from the eyes

 

age of innocence, motherfucker,

age of meaningless crosses spray painted on

rusting brick walls

 

said

you gotta eat but

the house was on fire

 

the city was in ruins

 

kids you knew from school took this dog 

out into the woods past the cemetery,

cut off its ears, its tail, gouged out

its eyes and he laughs when he

tells her the story

 

says the world is full of empty spaces just

waiting to be filled and 

she says i don’t understand you

  

tells him i will outlive all of your

useless bullshit and he shrugs

 

tells her it’s been the season of

glass for 35 years now and he has no

use for heroes

 

says it’s a nation of assholes with guns,

asks what can you do besides keep

voting for the wrong jackoff?

                                          but i was

talking about my childhood here

 

i was thinking about the dream you

had last night

was thinking about my own

 

the children were lost or

maybe it was me

 

was riding my bike through some

almost-known landscape,

light rain, 

storm approaching,

and i was probably naked

 

was probably bleeding

 

some girl i’d never seen before,

not you, not her,

at the side of the road said

the age of enlightenment is dead,

motherfucker, and

held out what was left of the dog

 

asked what can you do, really,

but keep choosing between murder

and suicide?

and i wake up to the

sound of sirens

 

and the kingdom is near

it's okay to feel this way

 

the future you deserve vs the past you never knew

 

WHEREVER YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE

GET IT HERE

 

[have your fun, but leave me out]

 

howling/forever

 

give my love to liquid pig

 

I guess they died some time ago (I guess they died some time ago)

 

and in what room will you die, and in what kingdom, and in what year?

 

BECAUSE THERE ARE

NO USEFUL GODS

always waking up on the last day of your life

 

red velvet hammer

 

NO ONE STARVES IN A NATION OF CORPSES

 

after you identify the enemy, then what?

 

FUCK THE LIARS

just like truth will always be the enemy of cowards

 

SCABMAG!

and all the years wasted lying to everyone around you

 

the starving man is heir to the future

 

because everything is silence when everyone's a liar

 

taking your place in the nation of cowards

 

GOOD FUCKING FUN

all the liars swear they only want to give you the truth

 

dance, motherfuckers

 

we butcher each other for the sake of a future none of us will ever see

 

TRUTH,

NOT GOVERNMENT

had this heart-shaped dream, all blood red & obscene

 

the whores you elect, and the filth they embrace

2026,

LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER

 

or old men starting wars of cowardice and failure

 

one morning, you wake up dead

 

your government is your greatest enemy

 

YOUR LIFE IS NOT THE DEAD MAN'S DREAM

 

YOU CAN'T TRUST VIOLENCE, BUT YOU CAN BET ON IT

 

TRUTH, NOT RELIGION

BETTER DRUGS FOR BETTER LIVING

 

FUCK THE LIARS

when you figure out that your government hates you

 

dive

 

keeps thinking about the desert,

about getting high,

about the girls he’s fucked in any number of

                                   shithole apartments

 

finds the slight depression at the far

edge of the field where the horse was buried

 

no songs but the

songs of bees

 

                                 the smell of lilies, of

dogwood and roses, clouds like mounds of

faceless corpses circling overhead and he

thinks he had a son

 

remembers watching the bus pull out of

the parking lot, but has no

memory of it ever coming back

 

and so he’s stoned at the far edge of

summer, 85 miles an hour down the interstate,

hills in every direction, shredded tires from

eighteen-wheelers, crows at the roadkill,

all of these pointless metaphors for

                                 a wasted life

 

he’s 25 and then he’s 43, a father and an

emotional cripple, sunburnt, unshaven,

no use for anyone’s god

 

he doesn’t support the war and he

doesn’t support the soldiers and he

doesn’t support the government

 

walls are walls, of course, and

every window is a target

 

the dogs are always hungrier when the

corpses are bulldozed into pits and burned

 

but he’s thinking about the desert,

                                      you see,

or he’s thinking about a woman he still loves,

and the two have become interchangeable

                                             in his mind

 

he’s thinking about this child he

may or may not have

 

about a poem he should but won’t write

 

he’s lost, yes, but only because

his eyes are closed

 

only because he never knew where he

was going in the first place

[asking for something, asking for anything]

 

each god as useless as the next

NEW WORK AT

THE CLOSED EYE

OPEN 

and everything beautiful will die in your hands

 

in love with the lie that nothing ever really dies

 

YOU KNOW ME SO WELL