Our Answer

Sunday,
June 17, 2012

9:28 PM

I tired rambled
attempts at exhausted effort.

We tried to exercise
our volition but the ‘meh’ made me don’t it all the dang day long.

So lets toast to the
thirst of days to come and wet our trumpets with the champagne of strangers
celebrations,  arcing in the air above
our music, corks echoing into the darkness, and there is no bottling the void.

I led men to their
deaths, and I only worked at the darn numbed post office. We marched into the
hands of bothersome oblivion with the patches peeling stitches off our starched
shirts, and the only damned uniform in hell is pinned across your smiling face.

You there confident,
I strip you of all that is not yours, naked is your personhood, sagging bags of
what you carry in your chest, fat love, obese fiscal conservatism, you are now
nothing more than you have ever been and it scares you to think of your wilting
spirit, you surrender to the amalgamate, you pretend for the sake of the
illusionati, the conspired autonomy who drop atomic homogeny on the pedagogical
tongues of competing delusions. Your face is their propaganda pulp, brittle
chipping teeth and the lines of compromise that pull at jowls and hang thick
whelps of cowardice upon your jawline, you are the fence post they weave their
barbed wire against, you are the boundary of progress, you stagnate the souls
to come from escaping preconceived nirvanas, it’s not heaven if its by design,
my eternity spirals out of control, cascading into what you think you
understand and why you never earned the respect of the martyr you worshipped,
tortured saviors who upon their blood drenched crucifix merely scowl
disapprovingly as it watches the milk sour in the refrigerator, the icebox door
ajar to light the kitchen for the midnight snacking glutton afraid of personal
responsibility and netherlight.