Remember

There are forgotten words that have been there for ages
their recovery is like rediscovering my old self.
I once again feel utterly lost, alone, and abandoned
with only this vast unchanging emptiness and the
twisted little worlds I make to keep myself from going
completely insane, barely not becoming like your Old Testament God.
Seeing the world – my reflection – and laughing,
laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing.

Book of Malakai

I'm as old as my father was when I was born
I wonder if he'd of known just what his son would become
would he insisted this misbegotten son be undone I was
bought and won, missed all fun,
never show feelings none
always thinkin to myself but
 its time I get off the shelf let loose let go tighten the noose
I'm sick a cringin' from the abuse.

Think you can rock hold tight to the top
but the truth is Malakai can't be stopped -
from the biblical to the lyrical tainted with treasonous thoughts,
bringer of the message but my bottles are fraught
with demons ill begot

I see through the ground to the
depths of hell and its seepin through the cracks of your mental jail.
You fail to understand the master's only plan
the souls bought and sold under the thumb of Abraham

I'm the Original Judas come so you can understand
all that you know is a lie.
Everything you've been told since you were a year old
has been a battle for your human soul - I don't mean
the infinite manifestation I mean your humanity your mind everything
that makes you think that your fine, but your not.
You're morally bankrupt spiritual efficacy nada just like I don't see my father.
God left this world he's not comin back he
 left to make a better universe.

The Book of Malakai was supposed to be the last book of the earth,
humanity snuffed out given a new birth but the time has passed and nobody was worth.
It's just us with the animals the cannibals the psychopathic
corporate mandibles that chew up your lives your only purpose now
is to pay taxes and die. Reagan was elected God in heaven shit don't look surprised.

Retail

A little poem about the retail industry

Image from topnews.in

From the first “Exkuche me you work here?”

I knew. Completely ignorant of: the name

tag stapled on my chest (mark of the bondsman),

I’m the only one within sight,

not to mention weko in hand – I knew

that you would ask not one but a series

of questions all answerable with eyes

third grade literacy and a mildly active

brain.  You possess none of these faculties,

approach with dull consumerist eyes,

permanent shuffling dead doe and I

know in another time/place without

pampers you would be the first to

go, look dumbfound at sabered teeth

wondering, what big teeth.

All thought while I show you around

the store. “How much? How little? No sale? Sure? Go Check.”

I go come back find you dumping

contents of various boxes.  Don’t see

display on the table? Never in life.

Oblivious barrel roll through life,

constant accumulation of (not wealth)

goods – too much? Space Bags! As seen on

TV bestseller by idly smiling (not quite drool)

customer. I smile polite, professional

(die) and point to price on box.

Red King Reign

 Thanks to Stephen King for writing the Dark Tower Series and providing me with the inspiration to write this, may the Red King Reign.

I

Wisp of prayer on the wind says “ to End World

would you follow?” – the

 tower speaks to I alone –

tired eyes reign o’r this world,

I augur death to it an every world.

Cry off!  Porten’ quick death yet come

for thy catet has wandered long

and is long gone.

(Aye I’ll say plain)

You know not what you seek

what do when my eye

alone could fly mans’

heart like moths of pitch.

The weight of a world gone weighs

your brow, hat brim lilt down,

dry sweat a’ tears spent.

You come though this world

Too has moved on.

Where be the Horn of Eld?

Dry twig snaps on brushed steel –

laughter – how came the loss of

such a thing? Pha I care not

 mark me boy, mark me Roland,

come to the tower. Death,

I the spider, await.

                II

I pine for thee

as a rabid dog for

man flesh, gnarled tree of

Thunderclap for water,

misogynist to backhand daughter.

Oh Discordia, mistress of dark ether,

I cry out prayers for your rise

to consume the worlds of lies.

I sing devotion to the

wind bring mortal man

to shudder, each word a crib

where babo breathes last breath

stale tears yet wet.

When the worlds unmade

my mind of broken thought will reign.

 Oh Discordia my love,

such ecstasy is destruction.