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Grinding to a much needed halt Beneath a seething red star, I wring out my thoughts, And backslide into a trance The universe unreels In long columns of black, As the silence expands, And softly urges me to wander
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Too bad for me, In these busy and electrified times I’ve been spoiled rotten, To a caramelized sludge Too bad For this sacred son, Up ended on his silver throne, By a childhood monster Too bad for him And his swollen gut, That bulges and pulses With Cold War spoils
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The skies were whistling through the night Leaving rows of cinder For the silver light of dawn The skylines of the world Shared a harmony of grief As their searchlights burned At their iron-oppressors Every red patch of soil Quaked for revenge; Howling and moaning Through a deluge of fire
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Quiet was the rolling dusk After daylight had sung, Its faithful refrain Quiet is this deathly night When the past lurks and leers In the grip Of its sprawling shadow Colorful and brave Are all myths of rescue By the bright scalding blaze Of a new world of fortunes
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There is no home for introspect, For the humble silence Of a tireless mind In this bold and free land Every passing moment Must be stocked to the brim With sound and fury, With every meaningless groan “Bleed out your thoughts For the greater good,” A red feast for the altar Splayed apart, for the…
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Pressed into the arms of today I live unafraid Of the monsters that rage Outside of its binds I yield to its dance Deprived of tomorrow, Orbiting the sun To a carefree tune
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Sometimes, I backslide through the smoke As the free world howls In demented refrains I’ll find myself speeding On a rugged decline, Stones clawing at my skin For the evils I’ve sown I’ll fall from the hills As a blood red mist, Contorted and maimed By the swift voyage down, For the rottenness I gave
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Long live the biting urge Of my cruelest curse, So I may scrawl Beyond the arc Of each sweeping day Let me live to be seasoned Gnarled and grey, Still bound to the keys In the heat of creation
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The hunt is on For the long lost chime of my voice For the melody that soared To meet the snarls of the reaper Somewhere It echoes its sorrowful tune, Unreeled in e-minor, As a shadowy ravine
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Where is the next murdering snare That will slice at my skin With her iron affection, The one rusted from neglect? Where is she, My spring-loaded death? Does she lie among autumn’s leaves Or in fields of ever-green? Is she merely a dream From a paranoid soul? Woven from a stray mind That’s engulfed in…
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