Hickhex, Street Strength, & other poems of this morally bankrupt culture

hickhex

you?  Know you?
let me glance back through my mental alleyways
see the faces that betray all lined up
ground hollow
left cancerous
in the night

yeah, I know you
saw you in my altars mirror
a visual sin of sorts
or so they say
main stream
& so damn shallow
I give you a deadlight
for the troubles
you leave me

Those needs creep upon you
softly @ first, then dragging
a clawed fist scrapping
for some stranglehold
against this abduction

there are tears & terrors
in your glistening eyes

then that courage to burst
treason of usage you believe
@ first

your heart sends black images
throughout the conduits
of the soul

then clarity of desires
aligned chakra w/ engine
primed to blow
& leave stains in its wake

prodded into action
through animal instincts
survival
of the inedible...

left to ones own devices
one devises devices
to fuel the vices
that one has acquired
through survival
of a lifetime
of being inclined
towards ones own devisings

(organizms viralizations twisterpate transreality's temporealisms.)




		Street Strength:

	measure the concepts
	of reason
	by the laws of survival
	& discard those morals
	which decay

	endure long enough
	to find pleasure
	in existence

	live by the sword
	& die in bed
soul scarred beyond recognition
	that is the price
	of animal nature

& if you let me down you know I'll kill you!

I'm soft & hard in opposite places
fallen so far me mind is dangerous
& violence just ain't me kettle of fish
but in tight corners you know I'll resist

I've learned all me fighting from pirate lore
ya kill w/ the first blow then fight no more
& if they dare struggle then ya kick 'em in the throat
& never let anyone get yr goat

see, that's what being strong's about
being too friggin amped to be able to count
& have a bloodthirsty soul buried w/in yr heart
cause if ya don't then yr torn apart

now if that ain't the life then I don't know what is

	wake up to a gun & a bottle
	a contest or two,
& a glare in the mirror @ the man you detest

	what else can we be?
	our fate can silence us
	& the magic of moments
	merely flickering shadows
	thrown by the candles
	in the chapels
	behind our world

I hate this gangbang mentality
we got cooked up in the crack waltz alley
& the bathtub molotov reality
is only a five moment drive away.





Proven Prowling


The ghosts demand repentance
Come begging handouts
Of pity


Worship me worship me worship me
A fucking phone
Off the hook
Around here
Somewhere
Gone proud
Prowling
Hunting
vagina



“If you are told what to think, refuse on sheer principle.”





 Low Sustains

Shaman caresses the veil
Strength radiates in his fire
Brilliant sensations corrode
Erodes walls & dependence
Fear

They desire I require

Dream between floors
The classic ovulation
Our cremation of pain
The road lies holding
Near

Shall they dream my dreams
W/ their solid compassion
& Renegade free will?






On the connection between shamanic vision & psychotic delusion...


Bear
Bare
My burdens?
Ha.  I bear my own fears
I wolf my desires

“is it always this hard?”

touch my shadow
taken from its bleeding cancer
built upon immortal granduer
our vulgar display of phallusy
gnostic genocided coincide w/
millinialist arrogance

Ethnocentric Theological Bullshit Artist
Give ‘em a rod & they’ll beat you w/
 it, give ‘em a rod & they’ll beat you w/
 it, give ‘em a rod & they’ll
Repeat themselves into a corner

Coroner at a late shift
Madman was the latest stiff
Given in to social whim
Remove him from the gene pool




 Treasonous Bastard


You taste that, 
got that stench of meaning 
strung out along guidelines to follow,
 between wires & muses,
 could that be your weapon? 
 Mutually mutable
 flights of fancy…

We take wind as a given when we touch,
 & words are simply tools used to pry out thought.
  We stroke the bloody fist & peer about for reason,
knowing there is only dream & synchronicity to lead us…

You flee this nothingless image of emotion,
 granted your passions to separate visions w/
 that piercing veil you drape across your eyes
 so you can see exactly what you planned on,
 don’t you?

I do not care if you think this is truth,
 to align symmetry w/ memory
 as you plant your bombs of kindness
 or drag witnesses to the completion of a cycle.

False hopes 
leave deep wounds 
& w/out destiny
 all hopes are false.

Dying is in fashion, 
has been for as long as we mortals have been around…
  check on your coat rack, 
leave ticket stubs
 in ashtrays, 
carry home a neon sign, 
there is twilight
 in the wine.

Twilight & dusk in the eastern skies…  
you taste that?
Taste steel winds &
Coal fires?

Yet when that nightmare begins
There are dark worlds w/in
Destroy these dreamlike sensations