Equal As Ashes

July 24, 2014

Bootstraps, that’s the way
charity free
refuse all hand-outs
assistance is for the weak
real men need no help
they live or die
by their sweat and ingenuity
if you can’t take the heat
get out of Hell
suicide’s a crime
but guns are not
and rivers flow the world over
ride the current
feed the fishes
better than having the government feed you
filthy animal
subhuman mongrel scum
all ashes are equal
open the door into summer
and burn

Washington D.C.

July 16, 2014

For me
I like to think
the hens in their mania
pecking the wound on their sister’s head
are not malicious
attacking the weak
kicking her when she’s down
but are in fact
involved in an attempt to heal
lacking, however, the proper tools and training
they maim, provoke further injury
without expertise and experience
never having studied or practiced
it is death they give
slashing, stabbing, running her down
feathers float in dusty air
blood seeps into the chicken shit earth
they gave it their all
but the patient was lost
it is better that way
to think it

Mixed Drink

July 5, 2014

straws jutting from icy deeps
gin and soda feelers reaching
extended, red-striped against white
like eyes on stalks, peeping
like snail antennae, questing
like a mouth, sucking
bringing the drink home
intoxicating bubbles and lime
prisms of delicious light swallowed
down, burning delightfully
I am mixed up
until otherwise
then clean

Tomorrow’s Creep

July 1, 2014

You creep towards it
the dawn
and once reached
you will awake
it will be a new day
and I take no pleasure in warning you
it will not be a good one
and it will not be a good one
because no day is good
none ever has
none ever will
despite what fond memories
you personally may recall
but at least you are awake
and while in it
you can come to accept it
all the ugliness in plain sight
hidden not from the atomic fires
and for a short while you know
you see all in the light for what it is
and it is not good
despite what the wise books say
and once passed
you will sleep
and you believe it a mercy
but dreams come
and so does the morrow
a horror
repeating over

LibertariAnarchism in the Wild

June 29, 2014

earth, hard packed
once upon a time mud
cracked and dry
on the ancient lake bed at night
beer will make it better
libation as the wind kicks up the dust
blowing unabated
across the parched wet lusting plain
in the aftermath of gunfire
of riot and calls to arm
a Hell-erupted freedom
out of lawlessness in the high desert of California
what was bliss
is now flesh wounds and concussions
one man’s anarchist paradise
is another’s unfettered violence
screams in the darkness
Mohawks silhouetted against the fire
panicked punks running amok
tripping, falling, stumbling in drunken fear
thirst quenching blood
sucked into the sands
a fest, a war, differences dissolve
a keg spilling its precious life
out the bullet hole
a beer, a beer
my kingdom for a beer
I find it hidden beyond the dune
requesting a cup
I am denied
“What?” I ask. “Do you want to fight over it?”
They do. We do.
This is the end of where Liberty will take us.


June 26, 2014

“You’re always fucking doing this to me
you fucking bitch
telling me when I have to go
I want my fucking respect,”
he said sitting next to her on Thursday
in the backseat of the Cadillac
we were getting on toward Memorial Day weekend
a time of sizzling meat and dancing feet
singing songs and smoking bongs
so I let his malfeasance slide
being hot-headed and Irish and all,
but on Sunday he shouted,
“Don’t die! Please don’t die!”
as his wife lay unconscious on the deck boards
the boy and his grandma, neighbors
watched horror-smacked through chain-link
to the mobile Nana’s hand ran
tapping the 9-1-1 into the smart phone…
the wife lays unmoving
believed dead
husband slumps back into plastic chair
what to do, he smokes and wonders
wife awakes
“How could you do this to me?” She asks
fifteen minutes after the savage strike struck
a left-temple blow putting out her lights
she staggers down the backyard stairs
into the house
police officers Moyers and Perez arrive
proud men of Northeast division
they conduct their interviews
neighbor says she only called
because she thought
the wife was dead
back at the homestead
domestic violence, all deny it
husband and wife, unified as one
in defiance
ain’t nobody here but us chickens, officer
and so the pigs roll
off and down the road
and here it all ends
as all their friends play pretend
nothing to see here
and nothing to do
but place bets
and wait
on when
the wife
will die

A Nice Guy

June 22, 2014

I’m there
I understand and get it
when I reach out to you
feel me, please, deeply
into you like love in wartime
I am open to you
a spread whore, free
a slut wanting, no
demanding it
needing you, receptive
dying for it
dying for you to get through to me

I’m there
to understand, to get you
a lover who wants no more than to love
love you like you deserve
to be held, caressed, cherished
worshipped like a goddess
a gilded-pussy messiah
who can save all of mankind
by baptism in your hot cunt
nail me to your body
let me hang on you
your every word
your every move
love me to pieces
and put me back together
reassemble me a new man
made in your image

I’m there
whatever you want me to be
love me to death
and raise me from the dead
resurrected for the good of your soul
the perfect man you need

I’m there
for you
waiting patiently
waiting for you to give yourself to me
waiting on your enlightenment
for you to see your salvation in me
to see me
truly as great as I am
as all you need
as your redemption from all
your bad choices

I’m there
finally, the nice guy you deserve
you stuck-up bitch

Mobile or Cell

June 20, 2014

it defines my fellow countrymen
once I thought them gullible
I thought them ignorant and arrogant
but those are symptoms
symptoms of a complete lack of awareness
they believe they are free
wild horses loosed upon the prairie
when in truth
they are blinkered oxen
yoked to a cart
heavy with the bodies of the dead
they drag it behind them
forward marching
gazing hypnotized
into handheld mirrors of their lives
as they step blindly into traffic
barely even registering
the blare of the horn
the screech of the brakes
the scent of scorched rubber
they die as they live

Hypocritical Shit

June 16, 2014

Contradictions flood their ideological bog
they believe full-heartedly
this is the land of opportunity
yet disbelieve in giving anyone a chance
it must all be bootstraps
and self-made men
climbing society’s ladder
by the sweat of their labors
a word spoken against the rich
to them
is an attack on capitalism
a Marxist screed to be screamed down
their love of the American dream
has turned into love of wealth
their love of wealth
has turned into idolatry of the wealthy
worship of the rich
who, if we just let them keep all their money,
will gladly create jobs
and infuse cash into local economies
transforming the country into a new Eden
if only we allow them
to exploit every last resource of the land
without regulation
without oversight
without responsibility or obligation to the future
not even after their death
should any of their hard-earned dinero
be stolen by the state
from their rightful and deserving heirs
who, although, didn’t work to earn it
are entitled to it
an elite class of god-spawned humans
privileged children of our lords and masters
and these children
who come at us with lawyers
truly, they are very much like the one true God
beloved by these lovers of the rich
a God who never had to work
to gain his Power
a God who has always been and always will be
all-powerful, all-knowing
the great divine Creator
of the heavens and the Earth
but how,
in the light of their creed
of the American dream
of hard work and persevering against odds
to obtain success,
can they bow to such a God
for whom everything has always been easy?
if you’re omnipotent
creating the universe
is no more praiseworthy
than making a poo
possibly of less note
than a satisfying bowel movement
but it’s no wonder
those who feed on contradictions
shit hypocrisy

Beer Batter

June 10, 2014

purpose is bait
waiting for you to take it
titillating base desires
until it is all you see, think and dream
purpose is everywhere in everything
by it you are hooked
seeking its essence in all you do
it drives, directs, devours
courses through your decisions, your actions
without the tickle of its barbed steel
buried in the meat of your pleasures
you cannot extract enjoyment
purpose is the sine qua non of your existence
and the purpose must suit you
it must satisfy your hunger
your lust and greed
it is the means
a servant to your ends
as you are a servant to it
purpose is empty and insignificant
an opiate, as ephemeral and hollow as honor and chivalry
another cultural trick to bring misery
to bring war, death and grief
to pit sister against sister
nation against nation
purpose is the slayer of liberty
a tool to crush, belittle and oppress
a weapon to dispirit, endrunken and distress
it is inconsequential
it is without meaning
it is tired and threadbare
an ideal whose time has long past
yet still you insist on setting your watch by it
letting it snare you in, spur you on
clean, filet and fry you
because your purpose to me
is as a vehicle for beer batter


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