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The system decays.  It fails and it falls.   
Chaos ensues.  Wade through the death.   
Ruins of Greats.  Tread on like dogs.   
Burn it all, burn it all.  Drowned in destruction.   
Breathe in the ash.  Drink in the sweat.   
Calls and chants.  Deep and enthralling.   
Take-over.  Dictate.   
Lead in like sheep.  Beaten, enslaved.   
Build it back up.  No peace, but no war.   
Freedom trapped.  In a tiny, cramped cage.   
Hidden away.  In a dark molten pool.   
The souls of the c
There’s always some too-young mother’s son  Fanning himself with a guard’s cap  Under Communist skies.   
Grey, they tread simply  And fingers sticky  To press their faces against plastic windows   
Until this crescendo rolls down their ribs  And squinting to the distance  They see sunlight over the walls.   
But it’s not summer, yet.  
Then the format changes  And he’s stranded-   
Wiping his brow, again.
Your words mean less  Than what I give to them.  They spiral across the pages,  Shoot like stars,  Ping-ing off my eardrums  Like notes from the record  We listened to on repeat  Last year,  Only duller as if through water.  My head’s submerged, then,  I guess,  And your thoughts pour  Through radio-perforations  Perched on the edge of  This damn bathtub  Ready – and how! –  
To fall and fill this world  With a million blue sparks  And douse my tears in white light.
I am an American.  But I do not:  sit on my ass all day and watch TV,  litter the streets,  disregard other cultures,  or disrespect my elders.   
I am Asian.  But I do not:  excel in math and science,  need a booster seat to drive,  or eat everything with chopsticks,  in fact,  I am a lot better at English,  I don't even have a driver's license,  And I think forks are easier to use than chopsticks.   
I am Male.  But I do not:  have large muscles,  want sex all the time,  or worship the NFL & NBA.   
I am 18 years old.  But
Consequences   
Wasteful people all around  Slaughter resources abound  Killing trees oil and many more  Fuels once gone, arise nevermore  For the future thing ahead  The landfill you make is the bed  Your child’s child sleep at night  Packed in by filth and garbage tight  If you think this does not you effect  Think of every unexplainable health defect  Some unknown lung disease  Caused by a too common social malaise
I'm so sick of super heroes  coming to "save the day."  What are they really accomplishing?  The meteor will just come again.  So-and-so's concocting another evil plan  to be shot down in the sequel.  I am so sick of giant robots.  I am so sick of trilogies.   
All I need is one shot.  Pure misanthropy.  Everybody dies.  There's no false sense of safety  when the Heroine is in the Hero's arms,  him rushing through her veins.  She's going to die, regardless.  They all are.  By "rescuing" her over and over again,  she's just going to get old and fat,  
Ring out through the silenced voices  Bind their memories to me  Take them through our atmosphere  To the world of no possession.  Is there a place where the forgotten reign  Void of seeping mourning grief?  
A place that’s less the swollen graves  Nameless bodies seeking resurrection  
 
Sound out into a world of healed earth  And fields of golden grain  A place that’s less the senseless crossfire  Strangers taking innocence away  Bring their souls to mercy  And bless them with a word  When we’re safe amongst our skins  We might linger on into this
and simply by the sunsets like i challenge all the sentiment  and the thirteen fallen hero's take their losses by the throat   
never ending is that path that leads to the one solution.   
phallic is gods reign  a monument to monuments.  so echo his voice thus, and raise a dead army.   
from the ground, throw them to the sky.  watch their skin peel and the shadows form.  block out the sun itself.   
now cold are the days.  and nights deathly, even in the midst of irreverence.   
more shall surely follow.
Satanic, Aggressively Insane,  New-age Tigers   
Demons destroy one another  Merciless, meaningless manslaughter  Some win wars yet all lose them.  
In this wholly unholy ritual   
But barbaric beasts they be,  Once they were civil children,  Offspring of God who sprung off  Into a world the all-knowing could not know.  
 
This God, unknowing of this new world,  Eyed his old, untouched, unchanged world,  Touched, turned by time and technology  And angles atrociously became archfiends   
Our world overrun, wild, wicked  With demonic demolitions
Chess   
Oh pitiless spectacle, oh woeful day  Why do I try, to play this game  I’ll lose it any way  I say this for; we are but pawns in the game of another  And kings, in the game of our own  We play these games with a shadow  Hanging over us  Moving us about  This is our own shadow and another’s  
For we may play many a game at once  We play them as the rook  The castle and the king  A pawn a knight a horse  We play them as our queen  We play these games  But oh, we play blind  There’s a shadow moving, over us  Moving us about &nbs
We have become the slaves of technology,  roles reversed as creator is dominated  by insatiable dependence on the creation.  Convenience becomes our grave  as we learn to avoid learning  and stake our lives on cold metal  that now accomplishes more than the accomplished.  Where would be without cell phones,  Computers, coffee makes, microwaves,  and all these things designed  to give us nothing more than time  away from the trifles of effort?  In gaining more time we’re losing the joy  of using time to our advantage.  Learning a trade, sending mail by post,  takin
My baby’s back from Knoxville  And the last thing on my mind  Is how much the price  Of cigarettes  Has gone up.  She smiled, cinnamon freckles  And cherry lips  Offsetting Vicodin blues.  Kissed her like I haven’t seen her  
In years—  Who really believes  Time’s tangible?—  And God God God  The only thing I wanted  Was her smiling  For me again.
I’ve noticed as of late  That no matter how much I want to say  It never comes out the way I need it.  
Such a unique combination of three simple words  Sticks in my throat,  
Kind of like the soft dry bread I bought hot,  Threw in my bike basket  
And pedaled home  Just to open the bag and find  It’d cooled hard.
O, you children of the revolution-  Spark interest in those coffee mountains,  A chicken-or-egg situation, really.  Well we all know  The best way to herd sheep  Is with a bird-dog  And the best way to skip town  Is with an excuse-  Love, maybe,  Or some sortof ringing that resembles  The ringing of ears  Three years late  When you filed those expense reports  And just went to another galaxy  In the meantime.
O,  
With every angry mark  I taste indecision.   
-You spend hours in vain,  glorifying  every millimeter of naked skin-   
Examination:  
Moonlight tickling fallen hair.   
-those dirty mexico-city streets,  sullen and sickly  in november twilight-
Here’s my plan:   
We’ll live poor  In a coldwater  English flat-  You can sing  
And I’ll write  And we’ll have  No rules  Or ambitions  Beyond ‘you and me’  Tangled  
Between the sheets.   
Let’s live poor-  I bet it’s more fun  
That way.  We’ll beg and steal.  You can strum  Your guitar  And I’ll dance  Like a happy child  And we’ll have  No rules  Or ambitions  Beyond this feeling  Of being free.   
Let’s live poor.  I’ll hold rall
I did not see the flames  But I read they had burned a flag  It sets the heart similarly alight  I don’t question who is right or wrong  No good can come from such labels  Even in the odd occasions they exist   
I might be accused of being a pacifist  Simply because I’m not an activist  But that’s not it, that’s not me at all  It’s just that I see the screen and the page  As mere frames of greater truths  They are merely interpretations   
From my scholarly position  I am so privileged and removed  That I can write their stories as history
if we’re supposed to feel bad for being bad-  well this doesn’t make sense does it?  I never had any goddamn sense  not even enough to form one of those four-letter words  with the vowels nestled inside like a brain.  are They really the stupid ones?  I can look out my window at the sleeping mass of them  downtown  and now I can remember why it hurt so much  to face even one day sober.  it’s been a while now.  it’s kind of late.   
tonight  I said my first prayer in years.  “thank god for 7-11’s over here,  thank god for corporate ame
Ohh, my southern baby,  She’s standing out there in the countryside  With beat knee-high boots making her sweat  And that play-curtain hair  Hiding eyes that made me want to yelp  
And scream and act the fool  And cut class to be with her every morning.  Ohh, I didn’t mind how she was taken  Cos inside we knew she was really mine.  That scar’s my story tattooed on her ankle  Where he’ll never see because now she hides it.  Everyone reads the tears in her eyes  As pictures of our mornings  Serenaded by traffic-hums out the window  And espresso kisses melt
Oh,  I’m so sick  Of not talking  To you.  My lips are zipped  Tighter than my  Sunday jeans  But I want to  
Rip your sweater off  Right along with them  And finally  Let my blood just  Scream.
His words – those stoned  Consonants&vowels,  Once upon a time those words  Took your laughing heart,  If only for one more day? He asked.   
Somehow those presumptuous syllables,  They were enough to form  Shapes. Form a world, your world,  Lips parting enough over that black hole  To form something recognizable –   
See that tree? He asked,  I made that noose just for you.   
And you laughed, these nothingisms  Defined your reality  Or what passed for reality  In the shadow of that old house.   
See those walls? He asked,  I
Such ignorant features. These fiends  Kiss saints, kiss sequined fingers  And move along before words can be vomited up.  Don’t let the kiddies in! it’s a bit of a shock,  
This forced removal, this purging, this  
Holocaust of features that burn like lye,  
Of heretics and dissidents  
That are still teaching the etiquette of  
Lighting up, bending spoons and measuring just enough  That compensation is never needed  
- Unlike the cock, the birth canal,  
The needle&vein are not mutually exclusive,  And overuse could result in something awful.  This is an appeal for hu
Robins hadn’t a thing to do with it –  
Beaks, stone and jewel holding up the sky  And breath as clouds and mist –  
They were just born to do it;  At least until they fall,  Bloat and deflate, marred carcasses  That falter and leach out civilizations –  
Worlds of function, narrowed blood cells  Inching raspberry over the dirt.  O it must be a sign of devotion,  Could it really afford to be anything else?  Maybe --- these rinds of flat years  Hidden away beneath ships.  O, how such creatures must have looked!  (Torrential - - )  Head of eagle, body

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