and when a candidate might elevate
to win election to a higher state
then all new actives must stand for review
and that ensures no error will get through.

the truth has now become a lie
and no one seems to question why
our pride and honor flew away
replaced on Insurrection day

where have our moral standards gone
along with righteous men who thought strong
a country not of men but of laws
now cheers to the neofascist cause

this Madisonian democracy
may soon be lost to history
not from external foreign force
but autocrats within of course

the fascists first take over schools
and then ban books that flaunt their rules
then silence becomes manifest
as protest too is laid to rest

extremists say that history
when taught has no validity
so, they revise and reinvent
as truth is twisted, lost, and bent

We are the nightmare
and cuirass of your
terminal souls.

We are the delicate,
immortelles flowers
of creation’s jewellery
and dwell within
the mouldering caverns
of apocalyptic chaos.

We reject gods because
they reject our sacerdotal
dominion over gods.

We are the magical
diseased who feed upon
the blue-burn fire of stars.

We are the watchers
of the withered minds
who try and quantify
our grandiosity through
their mediocrity.

We are pre-eminent
progeny of parsimonious
preternatural wombs.

We are magmatic, quantum
lepton neutrinos of sub-atomic
galaxies where altruistic Eros
regenerates the living force of life.

We are the you in us and the us in you.

We are infinite truth.

We are!

To focus on tomorrow’s dark,
is one more second lost
to every moment we don’t mark;
and see how high the cost.

From the fierey depths of eternal hate

to a wandering Roman, in the days of yore,

the simplicity of our forseen fate

is beheld within an evil core.

The brooks flow with the blood of the past

and the senseless things we do today,

make the brooks flow and the blood last

for life’s relived and the past shall stay.

The immensity of mass destruction lives on

yet the earth concedes to turn round the sun,

though we remember those days yet gone

bur forget the words of every one.

Death upon an unseen hill

placid happenings of yester year,

this evil has us at its will

yet, with confident madness,

we have no fear.

Lifelong depression won the day
That “black dog” stole his soul away.
And then another friend from Nam
When ten years home was one night gone.

In Nam with pistol worn in sight
He’d fly his Hueys to the fight
To pluck up wounded stuck so dire
Then fly too high for hostile fire.

No matter when or where they fall,
Their names belong upon the wall.
How many Vets their balls still bent
Died prone alone on cold cement?

The naked act of will to kill
Brought some men home for killin’ still,
Like those who went with troubled souls
Found napalm lies too full of holes.

A gallant soldier fights till dead
Too often for past lies he’s fed.
Now who among you disagrees
Wars fill our horrid histories.

No matter where or what you do
Some leaders find a war for you
To fight until that war is done,
A war thier lies had first begun.

As we leave every century
Still bleeding with hostility
Can insights deep within the Yin
Begin the Yang’s defeat of sin?

black phantom shadows –
(human beings)
aromatic ghosts float
but rarely are they seen

check out the scent on the putrid, muted
breeze – busted-up blood tragedy – many
people trapped – flat in the middle of a Kafka dream

people seem fine with the all night whine – the night sirens
sound like Donizetti’s Borgeia in C – street trolls lose their
funky-monkey mind – won’t listen to a melody in any other key

maximize a siren to its highest boost –
then play that wail in C – it soon will find a
place to roost – as people love to listen to
a loud melodic melody in that magic key

mighty mister-dumpsters filled to brim tonight –
as nighgtime dippers quickly dip and slip from sight
while safer, hipper dippers dip at morning light

but crack-head harlots sometimes skip the dip –
the appetite is not in sight when smokin’ crack
becomes a dieter’s delight

little Lizzie crack-head takes a dive – in dumpster number nine –
lunch in the city – be a pity not to dine – in a loaded dipsy-dumpster
where the food tastes fine – but Lizzie leaned too far – she fell right in –
but not a hungry harlot at the bottom of the bin -’cause squirmy little wormies
ate Lizzie and her sin

bright badge’s shine
on a Saturday night
uninformed authority
on famine and blight
people never look
a beat cop in the eye
no matter what the truth
or street wise lie
street people know
the bureaucratic game
are dirty little shake-downs
of multitudinal shame
you don’t talk to cops
you don’t give your name
you never let a cop
be director of the game

day to day gravity can cause great pain – on paralyzed,
gutter-rutted people in the rain – better stand guard
over precious cityways – Mammon’s dimmin’ down –
seen its better days – when the harshest haze of poverty
was hidden in the maze of interlocking alleyways where
shrouded safe in darkness – the furry vermin plays

We seek to feel the force of free
(intuitive instruction sought);
in compliment simplicity
that rids the grid of complex thought.

Words formed upon an empty sheet
will soon become an anthem sung;
refuse confusion’s new elite
when jingle-jangle bells are rung.

Seductions by reduction make
a break for ultra-common place
where wizards claim they are not fake
but hide their thin-skinned, bitter face.

Go out among the multitudes,
absorb the truth imbued in man.
Feel free to travel latitudes
that stray away from your first plan.

The muscled hustler finds his grooves
within the sin of mighty mind,
accepted though infected, proves
the mighty mind is hard to find.

Become a lover of the light,
unwrap all straps around the truth.
Praise purity of common sight,
ignite it in your troubled youth.

Our loss of liberty has made
another perfect tragedy,
where lazy, hazy, days of shade
corrupted man’s reality.

This bitter fit mythology
incites until the light is lost;
dissect each bit of piety,
begin to finalize its cost.

And here I leave you with good will
until the song of love, we sing,
will spark that spark inside man still
and silver bells of peace shall ring.

Minds great in girth search out the worm,
infectious like a plague,
that makes all human tissues squirm:
great minds can only beg.

And as we lose democracy
we also lose our will.
The answer clear in history
as fascists threaten still.

Entwined we float above the sea below,
Her rhythmic vigor vital in her hips
As we sail over Isles of long ago;
Dark eyes invite my mouth to greet her lips.

When I awake I smell the briny air
Enriched with scent of musk dream-lovers share.

my flesh is filled and frought with foul disease;
offensive was my life to thine own eyes
whose seen me sail both clean and filthy seas
where faith can fill or empty bigotries.

the story of a glory gone insane;
a genius so sublime in youthful prime
before the days communed with pure cocaine
while they did steal the tick and tock of time.

there is no way to spread a dreaded blame
excused are those accused or left to find
I say I loved to play the changing game;
eclectic change to corners of my mind.

certified a crazy kind of critter
tested mess I do believe corrected
bitter is a life of hazy glitter
choices blurred by choices I neglected.

I’m jonesin’ in the center of a city
while waiting on my powdered China-white.
my man must understand he’s dealin’ pity
or sick I’m going to be throughout the night.

I think I see my hero now is coming
like a pimp he’s dressed in blackest leather
tripping proud with lanky strides and humming
tunes he writes but just can’t keep together.

I’m watchin’ death come walkin’ straight at me
and I don’t think or blink a catious eye
but hand the Ferryman his feral fee:
relieve and leave without a shout ‘goodbye.’

my body broke and beaten now for certain;
too much junk keeps suckin out my bones.
I think I see the final call and curtain,
the God I owe is callin’ in his loans.

it was my hope someday I would connect
dramatic angels with my own desires,
but what should I, who did deny, expect?
I touch too much the heat of madness fires.

I sit inside the sacred Shaman ring,
where apparitions dervish dance around
but what the Shaman needs I could not bring;
my last was lost my first was never found

I traveled every twisted rut and road
that zigs and zags across my mottled map
and every road became an endless load
and every stop became the same old trap.

I’ve melllowed with the magic mountain mushroom
with the mystic natives from Peru.
made love in huts to ladies in full bloom
while glitter ghosts played rock and roll Kazoo.

and now I’m running full capacity
while hoping I’m not heading for a fall
but showing off my great alacrity
before I hear the cry “last curtain call.”

I hope to find a cheap discreet hotel,
try kickin’ my addictions very quick
while risin’ up and out of my own hell,
affixed to such affliction makes one sick.

then I will join a mighty minstrel show,
while going up to greet the nearest star;
find something true and new that I don’t know
and see if I have time to raise the bar.

my future vision of reality,
infused by figment fire but never there –
a future framed without validity
or is there ever anyone aware?

one way I know to beat the blues today
just fire up Langston Hughes and boogie beat
but I’m not breakin’ any news your way
we know just when and where like minded meet.

I slip and slide while runnin’ in my rut
with that old monkey clinging to my back.
I am the jester with a stuttered strut,
who lives his life from pack to glassine pack.

I guess it’s time to slip away and leave –
been here and there so now I guess I’ll go
and find some new creative ways to weave
synaptic threads for changing what I know.