The Dead of the Night Recoils Down the Pavements

The dead of the night recoils down the pavements
There’s an eternal sleep for you as fear takes
the anxious wives and latent husbands
at the slightest sight
And all the flecked butterflies creep like terrorists
and chanting

at the dead of the night recoils down the pavements
Panic is a warm gun in the wake
of your ignorance
which is the bullet from the height
from your mighty horse, and saying they’re curing the disease
and running outside and singing

like buzzards, everything seems melodious
and so all that’s to see
is the proof that men’s not only blind but dead

They talk of sins, they’re all from Dis
And I can’t relate that much
but I’m guessing anything goes
So yes, your fear is my problem
You’re the same disease
So get off your horse and take that gun off your hand
Because it’s a proof that you’re not only blind but dead

Dionysus in the Jungle

Hearing oceans,
the river in your skin
Can I swim with our hands,
grazing like silken
in shadows rise the risks
In thoughtlessness,
bodies that snare

Stillness is moving
across colorful leaves against yer skin
Dionysus in the jungle
and the gushing of wine

The running wolves in waters
in colors rise a whiteness
In all blackness,
Colors that snare

tears of unawares,
the bursting blankness
Sleeping in the woods
With running wolves in waters
In every despair,
Happiness that snare

‘Ole aimless mem’ries,
how do you see?
yer tart wine burns throats among the wolves

Cheerleaders

They love y’all and but they despise y’all,
everything asymmetrical’re in a stall,
waiting to wage war in the name of beauty,
dancing to the tune of the ugly

Cheerleaders make their way to the fields
Bores come to burn the prairies
They’re always behind themselves
Bores can’t see their own ghosts

There’s always time to lament
and there’s no time to appreciate
What d’ya want?
Wage your war and ye’r one of them too
What’s yer slant,
are ye one of the scenic hues?

Ye want to be beautiful ye become uglier,
a story to tell if ye’lways wanna defer
The gifted and callous have’s,
succumbing to the revolt of the slaves
The consumer is consumed,
fairytale suicide will have to offend

Two-faced (Atheist Pt. 3)

The peace-loving orations they are,
them all, who’re also going to war
Are we dead yet, are we there yet,
are we powerful enough to kill?
Smothered by Mary
Drowned in Water
Nailed in the name of the Father

They could be living adrift their two faces
to reserve one in heaven
They could be molding their two faces,
their oeuvre that is the beyond

The love-loving little Pascals,
them all, who exorcises the human
but calls it the order of the only Star
and wagers to presence

While the privileged saves their hide
and the prisoners converse,
that the ordinary is truthful,
the intellectual is forged,
and the ruling is useful
Just waiting to be thought of