One Bad Apple Killed Two Birds With One Stone
I get it now.
Life is Hell.
1984
year of the rat
year of my birth
Buddhas sparse but many
like the first Buddha three millennia
ago did say
it would be
clear as day
two eyes
two or three colors
dancing patters
of ocean patterns
They tell Me We have
walked upon the face
that pulls the tides
Yes, Life is Hell
is funny.
a pinch in the ass of good humor
a pinch of fiction
with your truth
So be it, the floor is made of coal
and from it Hellfire rages
harnessed by
The Triumph of the Will
and The Sickle
like a mighty engine
outlast
the beating heart of John Henry
glistening magnificent black body
slung limp across the rails he drove
right down to The End Of
His Road
Our Nature
propels Us as Matter
we gain velocity, inertia, momentum
more heat with friction
thicker, cold-chromed steal-tough skin
Like
A
bullet shot from the Center
of The Known World
shooting towards the vertical horizon
where time bends
and Life falls off the Face
of This World
a poet does no convincing
he only sings a song
a preacher preaches and
MCs for Gospel
a propagandist convinces Souls
there is no warrior poet.
Life is Hell,
Give 'Em Hell!, Harry
Dead patriots yelled
You only need Truman to hear
ghosts once
for him to shoot
lock, stock,
2 smoking barrels
We gave those neutrons
quaint Death's Head names
that a child could not forget:
Little Boy
Fat Man
the smallest nursery rhyme
The Grinning Head of Death
not a skull
nor plague
nor rings nor rosies
Little Boy and Fat Man
boom boom
we all fall down
fire
flash
fire forevermore
war is cold
and set upon by
ravens
who mangle so horribly
the cold dead red face of Mars.
Two Cities lay still dead
Their tale wrapped
strangling like a snake
around the neck
of Our fear-swollen
aching, drowning
lovely drooping
Living Head.
God-dammit,
I may not pray, but may say
everything I mean.
Taxman, landlord, leader
of soil...
it's a hard truth to swallow
enough to eat
Him I pay.
Life is Hell.
1984
year of the rat
year of my birth
Buddhas sparse but many
like the first Buddha three millennia
ago did say
it would be
clear as day
two eyes
two or three colors
dancing patters
of ocean patterns
They tell Me We have
walked upon the face
that pulls the tides
Yes, Life is Hell
is funny.
a pinch in the ass of good humor
a pinch of fiction
with your truth
So be it, the floor is made of coal
and from it Hellfire rages
harnessed by
The Triumph of the Will
and The Sickle
like a mighty engine
outlast
the beating heart of John Henry
glistening magnificent black body
slung limp across the rails he drove
right down to The End Of
His Road
Our Nature
propels Us as Matter
we gain velocity, inertia, momentum
more heat with friction
thicker, cold-chromed steal-tough skin
Like
A
bullet shot from the Center
of The Known World
shooting towards the vertical horizon
where time bends
and Life falls off the Face
of This World
a poet does no convincing
he only sings a song
a preacher preaches and
MCs for Gospel
a propagandist convinces Souls
there is no warrior poet.
Life is Hell,
Give 'Em Hell!, Harry
Dead patriots yelled
You only need Truman to hear
ghosts once
for him to shoot
lock, stock,
2 smoking barrels
We gave those neutrons
quaint Death's Head names
that a child could not forget:
Little Boy
Fat Man
the smallest nursery rhyme
The Grinning Head of Death
not a skull
nor plague
nor rings nor rosies
Little Boy and Fat Man
boom boom
we all fall down
fire
flash
fire forevermore
war is cold
and set upon by
ravens
who mangle so horribly
the cold dead red face of Mars.
Two Cities lay still dead
Their tale wrapped
strangling like a snake
around the neck
of Our fear-swollen
aching, drowning
lovely drooping
Living Head.
God-dammit,
I may not pray, but may say
everything I mean.
Taxman, landlord, leader
of soil...
it's a hard truth to swallow
enough to eat
Him I pay.