the acidic self

Isolated,
And orchestrated--
I, the screech of skidding tires,
You, the golden blurred out street

“Join me; bring your axe!" you say
"A burgeoning mind we must assail
Gather all who are indignant
Let us overwhelm him”

So deep beneath you go
Your bellowing echo,
That silent, “Oh no”
Swallowed whole
By me

I am isolated from,
But in harmony with,
The vibrating world
Blaring my booming bass,
I beat-box boisterous rhythms
For the needy masses

At least, I proclaim such benevolence
While actuality, I undermine humanity,
Smothering up their frequencies
With sonorous sagacity

I’m not contrite about it
No atom of me is distraught
Nor am I regretful
(The world lacks brave thoughts)

I'm no Goliath, I will not be toppled,
But I'm a lone giant, nonetheless—
Time will prove my fate

So lie back
Empty your soul
And shake some spirit free
then I’ll barge in,
Unobserved,
And steal your liberty

For the only sin of genius
Is to let you weak be free
So to is misery
Frail minds must have not liberty

the uncertainty principle

I used to know a God
Until priggish scholars
Instilled their doubts

I then took to praising
Their great and certain universe,
So palpable, so intelligible,

But found this vast, scatter of debris,
Dotted by an ocean of asterisks,
To be in essence me, uncertain and wayward,

And yet, intrepidly bounding forth, expanding,
Desperately searching the outskirts of existence
For something to cling to,
For anything definitive

Rapture

Star beams scattered through

Wedges, spewing out the

Intestines of the sky

Men, don’t be flattered

For all beauty suffers

Such late autumn massacres

The brave minds say, “So what if we sing gurgling blood!"

And, "Who minds that we fancy whims over limbs?

Arduous is the weighty brush of individuality!”

But our impressible society will soon catch on and claim, “All but the hearse!”

And they too will blink in that salty soap of ecstasy—

Which, evidently, blurs all sense of reason

And for this condition we’ll soon enough cave in,

Like the regressive eons hitherto,

Or omnipresent, tripped out junkies

Existing in both therapeutic intimacy and disco space,

Or those transcendent, twinkling wish granters,

So irksomely flaky

Yes, soon enough, All will be praying,

Feverishly and so very secretly,

For their own gruesome, glorious rapture