Tuesday, September 2, 2014

This Echo


selfishly generous
one must hold on to greedy altruism
becoming egoistically ethical
in the face of doctored consumption
welcoming monopoly
compromising vision
and enslaving freedoms
bought with peaceful violence
and spiteful love


facial skull
bone embodied
now walks and talks in voices
hitting a wall of truth
it breaks and shatters
revealing the union of matterless forms
birthing a brief called life
whispering a note
in cautionary
and sardonic signs of plenty
seemingly disjointed
like wet dreams
dry beds
and blank sheets
prompting thee
provoking ye
to go forth
and make connections
ask questions
such as
'is it true that the first suck is the deepest?'

Tongue Tied-

i've teeth to grind
in molar corners
and in other inessentials of fodder and fancy
such as ballad boxes, glass promises and an ingenious life of plenty
where i wanna bite off more than i can chew (i've incisors too)
like the omnivore's dilemma
awaiting harvests i've not farmed
fruits i've yet to seed
reaping whatever's yet to sow
in imaginary fields of overrated expectations
in logical disappointments befitting illogical investments
where these embedded companions become vile pesticides
bonding in such murky matrimonial gymnastic conveniences
what's the point in feigning mock surprise when bitter divorce comes calling names?
planting accusations?
branching provocations?
declaring you never said 'i do?'
now that i've done the grind
lemme brush my teeth
rinsing which
you'll see a determined smile
borne of the chosen toothpaste
the necessity of keeping happy appearances


-picturing this
imagining that
from here to wherever, and back


-heartless head
and headless heart
are at it again
playing pendulum 
batting ping--pong
and calling each other


call me romantic but here's my take
of scenic scenes and lively takes
as in being on the road
lethargic and late
in a caravan of light state
going preferably nomadic
living as such
with no trails
nor tracks upon the earth but the remnants of last night's hearth
coming as shadows upon the light
or rainbows in sunny wet skies
to be enticed by such
rather than building concrete lies
or living in-boxed lives
and measured cubicles
is what i must try my good man
and meeting you in the open
why- we'll toast the space
and all its race
but till then
we must bide the moment
wait for Godot and his crew
this time he sends assurances of his return
in a jolly old caravan
with yaks and horses
camels and yurts
crossing pastures and steppes
deserts and grasslands
with Temudjin himself leading the pack
all the way here, there and back
with nothing to lack
with nothing to lack


this idea of walking somewhere
now resonates more than ever
in the steps of fakirism
the gump
something like that
is getting

they say a man has his limits
i say he has his compromises
he calls principles


drunk on power
they stumble
and fall
while the masses
and the classes 
to what end you wonder and like the dude, you fuck it and go bowling

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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