Tag Archives: death

Controlled demolition of society

Sweaty palms that slide down
wherever you end up tossing
a pale down the well at midnight
splashes out of you again—

You’re not above it in the hills
the greydeath of falling dust in the streets—
the dryrun symbolism is enough—

In the dark I listen to your fingers
break one by one and for a moment
I wonder what I’m doing here—

You want to break it
break it away from them—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

How many times
has the facade fallen—
there’s no better time than now
to drop the complacency
and want something better—

You wanna cry
about how it won’t work
’cause you need somethin’ to do—
you need somethin’ to do—

Yeah—sometime after they did nine eleven—
endless wars and soldier suicides
I think I stopped giving a fuck—
or what was it—the drone killings
growing exponentially without any regard
for the innocent—the widespread surveillance—
oh—maybe human trafficking—
yeah—the kids in Haiti—
Laura changed her last name after that—
it’s no wonder guys are going mad
with guns like they do every day
in countries used as proxies & pawns—
it all just kinda mashes together
after a while doesn’t it?

Or have you spent so long
getting your brain legally stomped in
at the surface that none of this
means anything to you?

U.$.A. flies it’s false flag
wherever there’s a need
for distortion of reality—
there it is right in your face
yet you still can’t even see it—
got a million articles on google telling you
you’re insane for thinking a pizza place in DC
could harbor a “Haitian special”

You wanna play ping-pong
with people and their minds?

Try to make sure next time the guy you pay
to take the fall doesen’t have an IMDB page—
and that your fake French name
doesen’t bring up damning screenshots
from your now private instagram—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—


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It takes a belief

I almost forgot
I wanted to write
this poem
with a J hanging off
the side of my lip
I was out the door
after a cup of coffee
& before the river
evaporated cool
on the way home
you can hear the sound
of the beetles ticking
like gears that move
without touching each other
at sunset behind the hill
the oak leaves waltz
in the desperate hot wind
everything hunting
being hunted
I can count a dozen pine trees
both sugar & ponderosas
that have died & dumped
their carbon for the others
still living, still fighting off
the clock ticking, the invasion
of the weird little clicks that dot
this forest into a dry death
giving more sunlight for the others
that will someday thrive in their place
after I cut them down, burn them, &
once the beetles have had their way
with the sap that doesn’t bleed
well enough to stick around
& stay to see the moon ripen
a global hawk drone winking silently
flying toward Reno like a starlit ghost
& the bellowing cries
of a dying horse for an hour & a half at dawn
a single gunshot & it’s quiet again
a pound of oil
an ounce of flowers
an hour and a half in the crockpot
the water boils off




.

What was that

It sounds almost as if a squeaky toy
Became animate just long enough to feel
The piercing of a red foxes teeth
Puncturing its once faux fur bleeding
Into a warm helpless slumber & a spine
Left by the poison oak beneath the sugar pine
At twilight quiet & succumbing to the static
Of darkness in the forest




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Watermelon on the face in May

They figured out
All you gotta do
Is drone them
& they’ll come back
They’ll come back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is bomb them
& they’ll fight back
They’ll fight back
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is send them off
& let them back
Let them back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is let them thru
& they may want
They may want
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out


Round house

I used to love
to kick things
as hard as I could
like people
on the side of their heads
if they didn’t move
I remember the feelings
of taking a foot to the face
the pain shock & humility
the deafening pressure—the ringing
to destroy between a helmet and a chest piece
the barriers between us—the rules governing
our moves but not our emotions—
I’m reminded of this at the hip
with every step I take
toward my grave


Jingo the projector

                  What are you gonna do
                          when no one likes you

  I wanna know

             What’s the difference
       between a chem and some lead


  A lie and the truth


  We see you
from the other side
   we turn our heads
          and let you die


                         It looks so right
               giftwrapped in a need
                             to do something

                Doesn’t it—

      Those bombs of love and freedom


The elephant woke up in Mexico

When they built the wall
all they had to do was dig tunnels

They did it so damn well
the Israeli and Palestinians took note
on the other side of the earth


Ten years ago they took the moneys
out of the banks

A silent protest
heard around the world

You remember
the recession

The only liquid capital they had
was laundered and withdrawn

They called it a crisis
like they did when they sold
all the junkies into their scriptwritten plunges

What do you think happened
in those ten years down there

Over a hundred thousand dead

The sinaloa not taken down
but allowed to grow—
coaxed & cultivated
building tanks—laying lateral waste
to everything in opposition
until hijacked

Parade Shorty’s head around the village
like you actually made an impact

You ever wonder why the sewers
in Tijuana fail this time of year

Why the beaches in San Diego are closed

How there’s always a house
connecting another house 
already beneath the wall 
to keep us in

Sunglasses at the racetrack in Kentucky

They say all forces
coerce in pairs

Like our appetite
and their unmarked graves

Como prohibición
y plata o plomo

Desaparecido

Round ’em up boys
you gotta earn your marks
you gotta get somethin’
to write home about

The only reason
you would deport
an underlying driving force
of our economy
is to disrupt it
and that makes you
for a whole new reason
our sworn enemies