Tag Archives: death

Tools of the trade

Like the fat fuck doctor handing over vicodin
to the boy in pain who doesn’t yet know
he should say ‘go kill yourself’
instead of ‘okay’

Like dufflebags full of crystal methamphetamine
that used to be made in America
until it got outsourced
just like everything else

Like vacuum-packed on diplomatic flights
to South Korea—China—the Philippines
by the psychopathic soldiers & agents
without an ounce of morale left

Like making billions pushing synthetic opiates
while thousands of misled victims are dying
turning to heroin laced with fent
chasing their own tails until the end

Like turning a blind eye to the kilograms
of legal fentanyl analogs
exported from China—
North Korea can only dream of such success—

Like Duterte’s son getting caught
red handed moving millions in shabu
Triad tats on his back
—no one does a thing

Like shooting up after eating McDonalds
driving your Chevy Geo out of the parking lot
onto the road chucking your used needle
into the gutter from an open window

Like not even knowing there’s a lethal threshold
that you are going to want to pass
to get the same degree of feeling
you had the first time—it’s already gone—

Like taking your usual maintenance dose
that you thought was from the same source
nodding off on the toilet
never waking up again

Like writing a book about the Clinton’s
cocaine Arkanicide rise to political power
getting shot in the head
—suicided on the top of a hillside

Like the opium wars all over again
forever without an end in sight
whole entire neighborhoods set up
to be harvested for prisoners

Like feeding them risperidone for profit
in solitary confinement
guilty of nothing
but a lifestyle

Like how my generation statistically
is the drunkest one ever to walk
the face of the earth
—I wonder why that is

Like how before it was legal
for the CIA to brainwash the public before 2011
there were shows like Friends
all the chicks wanted to watch

Like no matter how much effort
you put into unlearning & training
your mind—there it is again every time
you talk to almost anyone

Like not giving a fuck
if you don’t like my poem
—go shove your head back into the sand
pretend everything is perfectly fine—

.

.

.

.

.

Advertisements

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—


.

.

.

.

.


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




.



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