Wednesday, July 2, 2014

the art of doing nothing


there is a certain perverse joy
in sitting and staring at a wall
with no concern, no thought
no fear of the future at all

even if the future is crawling
after you at its slow pace
you can just sit and stare at your wall
just resign from the rat race

the art of doing nothing
it takes years to master
but once you've got the hang of it
you can do nothing faster

stare at walls long enough
the walls start staring back at you
when you want to do nothing
there is nothing you can do

Termites

The man looks perfectly okay on the outside
His skin is shiny with sweat of hard labor
All his afflictions, he manages to hide
He hides everything he abhors 

Beneath his skin, his life is a war
He speaks heathen prayers, alone
His soul ripples, filled with scars
For him, there is no home

At night he sleeps a dreamless sleep
He feeds his fears to the termites
They crawl under his skin deep
He used to, but now he never fights

The man looks perfectly okay
Inside him, his bones are rotten 
He fades away one fine day
All alone, forgotten


Monday, April 21, 2014

The Darkness Engine

I have an engine where my heart should be
It's running on my blood 
I'm puking smoke from one end
Fire from the other

These fucking chains?
They cannot hold me!
I will break through them
Like a comet streaking across the dying night sky

This engine seeks no destination
The real fun is the chase, not the catch
Forged in the fires of creation
Its fire was lit by the first match

The power that made me
Is the power that will break me
Nothing else can or will stand in my way
I will go on forever, always

I will ride these black roads into the dead lands
I will go beyond the city of souls
I will rush through the screaming hoards of hell
I will not stop, even for heaven

Till the speed kills me
Till the speed kills me

-------------------

This is the longest I've been without my bike. Ever. I am missing my baby like anything. This one is for her.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

All poetry is dead

The words revolted one day
After ages of use and abuse
They crawled off the pages 
Of every book and every screen
They bled from their cages
And dug into the eyes 
Of every idiot 
Who dared to call herself a poet
They bored in like maniacal miners
Looking for a way out
An escape 
From certain death on pages
Where they were destined to fade and grow yellow with age
Where they were condemned to be forgotten
The words revolted through the world
A world that didn't deserve them
A world that abused the power given to it
A world that shat on the opportunities
A world that didn't give a fuck about the future or the past


Monday, March 10, 2014

The Smell of War

Sweat
Blood
Iron
Fear

Hate
Anger
Darkness
Tears

Mud
Violence
Screaming
Hear?

The
Smell
Of
War

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Ripped

there is always that feeling
of having been ripped
violently
from somewhere comfortable
and thrown into the eye of the storm

there is always that feeling
of getting a raw deal
shamelessly
walking into a trap
that was not even meant for you

there is always that feeling
of missing a great deal
things that were a part of you
now lost, alone and forgotten
but nothing can be done now

every man must move on
throw a shroud on the past
burn it and bury it deep
and pray the ghosts sit still

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

changes

once the ball starts rolling
there is no stopping it
it collects causalities along the way
smearing it all in shit
and through the shit
sometimes diamonds shine through
so keep your eyes open
and your mouth shut
there is no time to doubt
just go along with the changes
just go along with the changes
things will change for better
things will change for worse
but be sure things will change
like seasons
like humans
like emotions
like passions
so change with the changes
evolve
resolve
devolve
be something better
than the sum of your parts

----

can't keep a poet down for long.