And That’s What Christianity’s All About

This was not the present
it never is
no man stands still for time
he is a creature of creation
built for speed
on a race to doomsday
the never-when
where he hopes to win
a bleak, pessimistic dream
to achieve victory
only outside of time and space
the faith of the born loser
is to be born again a winner
but for rebirth a price is paid
a loss – life, light and possibility
all reduced
for one last fanatic drive to the end

To Die

I will die
and men in khaki shorts will mow their lawns
bulging grey-haired bellies
jiggling to the machine’s vibrations
beer sloshing in guts
as growing grass gets the blade

I will die
and women in hot baths will shave their legs
long and smothered in lather
scented candle burning at the tub’s edge
relaxing music on the laptop plays
as growing hair gets the blade

I will die
and I would be glad to know
if I could know
how people continue to dance and sing
and pop microwave popcorn
searching for recipes online
asking Google questions about caramel
all of that will be mighty fine
the steadiness of our unyielding race
knowing it goes on as always
I won’t be bothered in the least…

Beat

my beating heart beats me down
with everyone
hit after hit
like the swing of a bat
it is assailant
we are victim
struck to the ground
defenseless, frightened
eager, excited
it is a dominatrix
a whip crack
the lash to the back
enslaved to it
tied to it
in need of it
wanting it
doing anything for it
to keep it going
to maintain the flow
the pump, the thrill
it is the driver
we are the stolen car
taken for a joy ride
throttled, over-heated
leaking fluids
venting steam
treads worn bare
tires blown
engine ticking, cooling
a final sputter
and that’s all there is… is that all there is?

Crankless

Limping out of the gate reluctant
it’s how I live
as if wound too far, a spring gets blown
there’s nothing I agree to do
in advance
that I want to do
by when the time comes
to do it
“I’d rather not”
chisel it on my gravestone
a summation of who I am
as good as any other
a man of zero enthusiasm
pained by fun
wanting the party over before the start
turning the ignition
to sit and idle in the driveway
head pressed to the wheel
gas burns
exhaust fumes catch the breeze
the same tape in the deck for a year
feeds through the spindles
as ready to snap as I am
cut the engine, music over,
out of the car
why bother going anywhere
when anywhere is a place like here
or slightly worse
or only marginally, minimally improved
and that’s worst of all
no time is better than a good time and
anytime is better than a bad one
so I choose none

Ritual Skin

snake head bris, rabbi sucking cobra
spit down throat skinless
like a Yule log for santa claus
fiery bite to butt, to tongue
wee willy wiener misbehaved
hegemonically enslaved
grasp and twist and tear and suck
rituals are never enough
genital warts and saxophones
childish bits left unblown
where you meet at the goblin market
gullible cretins are your target
smile, laugh, shake hands, commend
entreaties and treacheries never cease
as friends embracing enemies feast
fleshly ringlets freshly severed
fruit-loop-dick-hoop immobilized moan
for foolish tribe a slaughter done
merrily, merrily, life is a jubilee Jews
walls up, cocks out
waggle it at intruders come
rag on, women out
superstition lives in blood and skin

The Sting of Impotence

Whether under church, law, bank or state
the sting of impotence lashes down
upon the back of everyman
the whip strikes
crisscrossing lacerations
skin, muscle, sinew, all
flayed open to bone
it’s the feeling as you open the electric bill
when the bottle’s redemption value
cannot be redeemed
as taggers spray paint walls
neighbors blast party music to dawn
and the police come to ticket you
for an unweeded garden
the adrenaline of powerlessness
storms the circulation
in enragement and confusion
hog-tied, deprived and laughed at
by your captors
for the witch tried and convicted
burning and death comes fast
but today, the modern man
twists and agonizes
suspended meat over the tiger pit
you are food
nothing but fuel
for the delight of the rich
burning to keep them warm
faggots on the fire
furs for the shoulders
your misery is their economy
when you succeed
experience comfort
feel happiness for but a moment
to them
it is a failure of their oppression
the machine has gotten lax
allowed the screws too long to be loosened
and their duty sworn
is to double-down
stamp out any temporary joy
a peasant in good cheer
is a peasant undisciplined
spared the rod and spoiled
a reprieve from sweat and anxiety
an hours clear-minded thought
one day spent not agonizing over finances
not guilt-ridden and ashamed
seething in sickness and frustration,
crying for no reason
or filled with dread
is a day of failure
under church, law, bank and state

Political Proctology

“grand” and “old,” the words
in the title
grant an air of venerable respectability
something sorely needed, as of late, by any G.O.P.
a Grand Old Practitioner of medicine
faces many prejudices
seems young people today have no faith
in applications of wormwood and exorcism
just watch how they react
to a poultice of powderized tiger penis
with skepticism like theirs
it’ll be a wonder
if every man in the land isn’t impotent
in four and twenty fort nights
–remove your britches and lie down, please–
scientific method
facts and evidence
a good G.O.P. has no call for these
a course of quick silver’s what they need
drink the magic potion
chant the incantation
do the wellness dance
that’s tradition
tried and true methods they are
for restoring balance the humours
–roll onto your belly, please–
a pox upon modernity
and their microscopic bugs
the germ theory of illness
it is just a theory
what bollocks all this hand washing
sterilizing of instruments
such fanciful wastes of time
money needlessly spent
–hm, this isn’t looking right–
the United States has the best healthcare in the world
what a waste of public funds
genetic tests on fruit flies
experiments on meth addict monkeys
these zealots of progress
they’re the ones making everyone sick
with their insalubrious fretting
over sugars and salts and fats
–hold still–
counting calories like fastidious accountants
–hold still–
mark my words
their big ideas will be the end of us…
–quit squirming
this infection of your lower bowel won’t heal itself
and these leeches aren’t going to pound themselves up your ass–

Moth

Unsteady eye vibrations
see a rattling world
tremors ripple through
frenzied edges sizzle
vision quakes
distorts perception
a minute shaking of reality
warps eagerly inward
uncontrollably
until the body
ill at ease
is a reflection of sight
pitched disharmoniously in reverse
a mind turned against matter
febrile anxieties
foment
nervous contemplations
energetic shivers rack the limbs
destabilize system rhythms
muscles compulsively flex
dyssynchronous heart beats
measure inverse seconds
out of time
edges of self dissipate
me, I
not me, not I
definition collapse
fluttering peripheries
a light bulb’s inescapable
halo of darkness
error in guidance
a miscalculated moon
from here to there
is no way out

Deutschland

You are half asleep and listening
lying upon a vinyl squat sofa in Hamburg
in Germany
German voices seep into your subconscious
as does cigarette smoke and stale bier
you are hearing sounds
foreign tongues speaking soft and urgent
it’s like hypnosis
on the couch
the language of Freud
so lovely, so gentle, so homely, so harsh
they sing an alien song ushering you to slumber
adrift in rocking nonsense
a lullaby from another world
pissing through a wormhole
bored into the great void of mind
pink and flapping
straight on to gray and quivering
you do not comprehend the words
understand the sentence handed down
but be assured
in a prison you have been placed
sequestered by illiteracy from decent society
and in your cell there is safety to feel
the serenity of impotence
the bliss of ignorance
none of the futility of resistance
you hear the voices speak as you do not
you want to surrender to this dream of sounds
sleep and comfort – a fantasy of helplessness
a return to infancy
a desire for a master, a mother
beyond the grasp of intelligence
so superior, so absolute
supreme ruler über alles
consent is easy as you drift away
and then you wake up
to yourself
to what you became under
failed by the meaning

Of Opium and People

“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.” – Karl Marx

Of religion, all Marx said, we are
the heart, the sigh, the soul: we are
the oppression, soullessness and heartlessness: we are
the creature, the world, the condition: we are
and that’s pretty much what’s so fucked about it
without us, it’d be perfect and unquestioned
the cause of no strife or division
without our sighs, souls and hearts
our heartless, soulless oppressions
without us creatures
the condition of the world
would be opium without people
a flower freed from fate’s fire