for the fallen

[dead man]

we're

animalistic. emotional. dramatic and gifted
capitalist machinery in static positions
master magician, casting his sentence, like bass fisherman
laughter relentless, acid cemetery. Zack Wicks for president
posthumous destiny, posturing heavy, sadness within
crow's nest captaining ship, rifle crack, and panic ascends
who's team are you on? bastard or bitch? think on that for a minute.
there's no gray. either you had it or didn't, don't ask for specifics
pass me a swisher for the people we lost
2006 had all the fallen on our sweaters and walls
the night will soon be over. won't you sing me a song
make me forget i'm headed home again to sleep and withdraw
as strange as it seems, it's real to me. this fading belief
that it matters what i have to say to anyone reading
maple moonshine mason jars we made into sleep
making love same way we make believe. it's playful deceit
naked and free. cherub and tree, soil and sulfur
every 8-ball needs a pyrex pot to boil it over
color me motor oil, city-slicker motioning order
gavel bang. another decade of emotional torture
dissociative mores prototypic mode of misnomer
totally immobile lord of slow reabsorption
regressive tendencies. i've grown into a finicky child
time passed. i stayed the same and never figured it out
trigonal planar, electron-dense, let negativity pile
obsessing over chiral chemic symmetry now
mimic me how? it's code encrypted in a series of vowels
miles beneath a gravestone in the Switzerland alps
all i need is loyalty. and sympathy. help
ledger desperately to reconnect our system to self
keep missing a beat. pulse synchrony like periods bleed
pistol to your teeth. tasting nickel once the trigger release
simple, clean. its hard to let go. left a kingdom, a queen
for peace, a piece of quiet. good things never come easy
sacrifices model clay to sculpture. sand into stone
black the martyr. white-robe pacifist out gathering souls
calling the abyss with schizophrenia's phone
half-dead. hearing voices while i'm standing alone
anakin's ghost. phantom menacing like wolves at the door
dripping fur and sweat and blood all over the floor
four-leaf clover certified, just lucky to be alive
only thing for certain: we've got nothing to deify
plastic island bandits on a chunk of formaldehyde
i'm crossed between addiction & compulsion to rhapsodize
a plane ticket nowhere. baggage coaches and Samsonite
the last wooly mammoth on this island of parasites
from the era of hammer-pants dances and camel lights
practicing Parappa the Rapper to get my cadence right
passion in his practices Godzilla his appetite
its simple math. T-89 transmission to master rhyme
ridiculous past his prime, no secret its true
still seek/destroy like graphic sensors on a B-22
its weakness. secret. reclusive. beastly and beautiful
dressing all in powder-blue to speak at a funeral
label unusual, sequencing musicals, Bohemian grooves
seeking silver / breathing toxin / speaking in blues
its a frequency used to broadcast all these signals to you
hoping you may stumble on it one afternoon
may it find you well, Jazzy Belle. we're but walls in a room
a screen to filter all our empty promises through
hard to accept and great to embrace, i saved you a place
you never showed your face again on Erie and State
poking bears and wonder if they're really awake
Myrmidon, the myriad of pure inspiration
kill or be saved. hit it or pass. I'm Gilligan's raft
setting free a butterfly effect-and-a-half
method acting romantic. lighting candles for comfort
burn sandalwood and disassemble all my sneakers for rubber
a bridge runs under. snowy battlefield awash incandescent
sunbeam sterilize the bodies we left. all for revenge.

goodnight