SPORE SUITE
1.
Twisted like acid
Drops
My heart is a sanitary pad
No tears fall
In the desert of my soul
The wind howls
A serenade
My bones chime
Walking this empty land.
2.
Not fucked up,
Fucked down,
down to the pit
where beasts eat
& bodies squirm
where the pain is ecstasy
& the genocide reins
where sins multiply
& gargoyles laugh at impurity,
this hell you talk of,
exists within,
go to it,
consume its madness,
shit out its knowledge.
3.
Talk to me
through the bars,
I don’t bite,
listen to my words,
set me free,
hide me in
your chastity.
4.
Vomiting up boredom
pissing in the gutter
of dead end street
on another frail night;
shooting blanks into
another empty void;
needing nothing
wanting everything
fucking anything
drinking anything
chords & ropes & bells
& fists & boots & blood,
living here is ugly
in a beautiful way,
i was born on the tracks
run over by life.
5.
Those tenements of love we erected,
from bricks of lust & want,
crumbled in the tempest,
turning slowly to slums,
where bare-footed dwellers
& beggars, traded piety
for ammunition.
We could only sit and watch the fall,
stoned and inebriated,
through vacant eyes;
staring down wasteland promises
& shopping cart truths
wheeled through desolation
by promiscuous cunts
& vagabond slags.
We shed our clothes & our skin,
scoured rubble for clues,
until our bones bled;
builders we were,
Shakespearean sots,
architects of our own demise.
6.
Stilled by a bad blood transfusion;
thorazine shuffles toward identity crisis
inter-species communion, cerebral destitution
juice extraction – high-pitched screams
battery acid lozenges
creaking fairground rides
a non-ferrous smile before you leap,
Out in the garden it/s raining ash
the running men sport surgical masks
jump-starting burned-out wrecks;
Beating hours on dead skin drums
with shinbone sticks
Re-winding time – re-engineering a house of pain stay
to meet all your serum needs
in pathos one they’re cooking spores,
spreading the word via pot-bellied microwaves
I can’t make it out on my own,
the exits are tied with intestinal tract,
the box is dead; the despot hung
All I got left to do, is sit here numb,
Dye my mind blonde
blend in with the pale-faced mob
as they run rampage
down dead clown alley
again tonight.
7.
despise it with a passion,
that four letter word,
loathe its manipulative device,
the way it blinds & corrupts,
spreads septic disease
tortures & kills romance
asphyxiates lust,
breeds infidelity;
that incestuous courtship it nurtures,
murders independence,
drags its swastika from the bedroom
to the courtroom.
Swaggering through lives
with bastard bravado,
& illegitimate sentiment,
bludgeoning honesty
coveting deceit;
love is a plague,
to which we all succumb . . .
8.
Let go or hold on,
watch the masks dissolve
the facts dissipate
in the murky gloom of innuendo
a moment dies
another is born,
there are no steps to retrace
no prints to track
this is the void between truth or dare,
the blurred line;
& you can stand or fall,
live or die,
on the strength of three words,
one heart,
two lies.