Break Time / In the Factory

Can’t work, can’t read

Can’t stay, can’t leave

And I can’t sleep

Can’t starve, can’t eat

Can’t stop, can’t speak

And I can’t sleep

The praised us, when they raised us

They caged us, when we raised up

They changed us, now they change us

Embrace us, Erase us

They sired him, wired him

Fired him, re-hired him

Liars now, liars then

The time was now, the time was then

In the labyrinth, an amethyst

An open door, a catalyst

A violent past, a present tense

A silence passed, from violent men

Violent men

Violent past

A present, tense

Can’t work, can’t read

Can’t stay, can’t leave

And I can’t sleep

Can’t starve, can’t eat

Can’t stop, can’t speak

And I can’t sleep

——————————

Could it be ever so simple, as getting bread from the temple?

When spirits body—embody, head, heart and pocket-a-part-of-me

Market the artist and carcass, stardust incarceree

Cancel the chancery, answer the cancer with a canopy’s sun

Stunned, nine ton tongue, divine siamese lung

Decay in decoupage, rearrange the echo’s pause

Silent circus synesthesia, seizures dripping amnesia

Major cases made to wait til meaningless

Bodies sent upstate can’t state their case unless they pay a mint

Cookies crumble, psyches dent

Bodies isolated by environments

Bodies decimated on requirement

Who locks the body, body rocks the sullen sunken grip

To bunkers in the mothership

Earthmother sung tundra first, wondered

Cursed under breath, as a thunderclap laughed

And then crashed, as her birth mother passed

The purse bending wiles of a new mother’s smile

Now front page news, her child, fed to the dogs

Hog mouth grinning through the red south, death tooth fog

Swamp things stutter through, the evening news

Taste turns bitter in a world so small

Life turns blue

Sight lines too

Light turns blue

Two by two

Life turns blue

Lifelines through

Pipelines grew

Deadlines too

—————

Delicate heavyweights hit the hardest, turned featherweight martyrs

Martyrs turn victims to sergeants, war of impossible margins

Flesh is a coppable costume

Mark of the beast is a market

Mark of your teeth on the carpet

Spark of release IS the process

Abject the prodigal arc, it’s absence is awful yet honest

Crosses in tropical climates

Kismet is prayerful in silence

Cold and alone in the darkness

We have created this violence

We have cremated the larvae

Lifted the largesse, when garbled bards gleaned — grifted the heartless

Impoverished charm deemed useless

Death assured — ruthless

A priapism for the toothless

Suck that soul sucker fruitless

Back covered bruises

Track under arrow fire

Born in a warring tribe

Bi-polar politic

Sci-fi window cleaner screaming for the hollow tip

But only taste the iron grip

—————————

Open the door

The Kunstgalerie of war

On tongue, swivel

Hip on gun, pivot

In bullets of drivel

Driven by scribbling words and worlds

Septum of swords

Bone tusk in the orbs, occipital cords

Stretched them, the leftists gushed

Oxidized the rain-parched crust

The grey lark rushed like hot air from a vacuum

That swooned at immortal eyes, that left us demoralized

The green coral’s seed quarrels, spring

Aural forest sending leaves, vetting me

Embedding dreams as a lifeline

Scant American past-time

False character baptized when chastised

Acid rain in star’s eyes

Mark of Cain

Parson’s past lives, in the arsonist’s glass eye

Bargained for seashells and found the seaside

Bartered for chanterelles and found the bloom of an all-collapsing room

The sooth say to ingest the tomb when obsessed with tea leaves

The excess of a fortune’s ruins

The language of a sacred crest

Wrested from dilapidated earth against the Trappist’ breast

Re-writing the baptist crutch

Settled in the mountain’s parting

Reciting the crescent’s touch

Detriment to apple’s falling

Recital for heaven’s hush

Dangled in a dappled morning

Angled in an abstract painting

Fawning, feinting, inner greed restraining

Pleading, seething, draining,

Teething, feeling, failing

In the forest, all alone, a dead oak in a sea of pine

A tourist, far from home, just a spoke in a wheel of iron

The chorus, following blindly by ear and nose

Intone devotion, hung by feet and toes

They didn’t go so long

They didn’t know so long

So long, so long…

—————

What’s the point of your posturing?

Man is driven by apostrophes

What’s the point of your posturing?

Man is driven by apostrophes

From Austrolipithecus to acolyte to apostate technologies

To the never ending debates on human life versus fiscal policy

To the brow beating pedestaling of Western Art, classicist homogeny

America’s the product of white supremacist ideologies

Not just the product but the factory

Not just the product but the factory

In the factory

The product took years

The product took years

A product of tears

A product of tears

They’re selling you fear

They’re selling you fear

The product took years

A product of tears