Schandlich

In the evening we will rise, and in the night we'll run To bid adieu to brighter skies and toward the sunken sun The man in black will lift his bones And say, "Wherefore go ye?" "We go the way of all flesh to join the great majority." When widows cry "Go past, go past, that you not haunt us still!" And vermin cry "Run fast, run fast, that we may eat our fill!" When the time has ticked its last And from our day we flee He who hath wrought long 'fore I Will come and welcome me "This is our great escape!" we'll say And shed our skin like fleece. Into the earth we all roll toiling Where tongue and teeth will cease.

I don't have a poem, so I know that I won't be noticed click, clack, click My fingers skid across the keyboard without Wit, thought, So fast that I forget what I've typed and what I've I've begun to repeat Marking each key with with desperate enthusiasm My hands are black My keyboard is black My clothes are black I find no soothing calm, however, from the habitual mantra of coloring Grey matter struggles but loosens words and fleeting thoughts Click clack— Jammed. "R" "A" "G" "E" Th most usd kys on my kybod. I don't have a poem, I will not be acknowledged among the the the bones licked of flesh, used to pick teeth and thrown away.

Bzzzz…Bzzzz…Bzzzz…Bzzzz… The light outside won't stop flickering…. The city blinks its eyes, breathes. The natives blemish her with dice and bullets leaving bountiful mounds of sex and cocaine as hand-me-downs to the next generation. She endeavors to rise up and pry the people from out of her seedy womb with murder and pestilence. They strong-arm and bruise her face with plows and new malls. They're free as birds down there. Free to rape the concrete with graffiti and massacre common sense among thousands. I justify to myself that, "We're not different. We just don't condone each other." The light outside shivers on

I cannot shake the feeling That I have never met you once. Not once. Somehow still, with the philosophy of you, Comes a sort of ecstasy. You are my Abel, made to feast on the fatted calves Seen as the goodly child, While I lay emaciated Thieving your scraps from the desert traps, Miles wandered past the gates of Eden. Truly, we are, brothers, are we not? Both of us riddled with scars of our divine destruction. Damned to repeat. Damned to shed blood. Warm and sweaty... Through another life I lead nations and made mothers of my own sisters and Was father to the daughters of those sisters, my nieces. Grandfather to my children. Sire