Better

Why would i sit here,
so still,
very very.
what?
I can't consume like they want me to?
possibly,
it's possible.
Improbably
a problem
says I
megaphone hand held
louder good man, louder
My streets are cleaner than yours.
I hold that over your head.
What?
I'm conforming like they want me to.
So high above your head there's pavement falling in your eyes.
My pavement can cure blindness.
Evangelical gravel.
What?!
I can't breed like they want me to!
I read the small print.
"come on man, you know it ain't like that?"
Like that?! Like THAT?! You're like that!
That's what that tag means.
I read the small print.
Why would I sit here,
so still
very very.
I'm not right for them.
What?!
Not right for them.

Coasts That Are

The east coast on it's passive continental shelf seems backwards to me on my "dynamic" west coast.
Reverting back now to an August past where the stereotypes of a NYU break coddle me.
Dancing outfitted youth filling my plastic cup before they fill their noses
My junctures attaching themselves to the somewhat faded open edges of California,
between
"less than satisfied"
and "underwhelmed"
while my feet wade in jealousy
Tragic California girl, please whine more about your tuitioned education of pleated skirt catholicism!
We can't get enough!
Want to, need to
hear more MORE about how you miss the fashion forward dirty lust coast.
Ennui filled irony,
ennui being less west,
less north,
less "hella boring",
(again again!)
Ennui filled irony is you
(me, all me!)
chewing on the edges of your tongue while miles away,
someone who feels their passive part of the continent unmoving and stagnant,
whines for my
(yours, mine and someday theirs)
dynamic crashing and jerking graveyard hometown.

Questions to Lords

When was the last time...
First?
Second?
Or twelfth?
..that you conquered empires just to watch them fall?
When did you first...
Last?
Begin?
or end?
to idealize the bloodshed and panic?
I know, for a fact...
Fiction.
Stories.
and rumors.
that you have cried on several shoulders so you can leave your mark.
When the time comes for all of this to end...
Pass.
Finish.
and die.
There will be no place for you anymore.
Kings in tombs, fathers in graves, your body alone.
Abandoned.
Forgotten.
and burned.
Scattered to blend
Mold.
Move.
and suffer
with all of those...
empires burning.

to bond

These two,
blended for the creation,
and desecration,
of the institution,
in which we,
as followers and herders,
consume from eagerly.
The task,
of two as one,
is simple.
Drink body and eat mind.
Consume.
Consume.
Consume,
until...
as the last glass is raised in a toast,
"To two!
As One!
Drunk and Full,
we worship and praise thy union!"
A toast
not heard.
Too soft in sound to be heard over
the shouts and curses
of the ones as halves.
Incomplete persons,
enraged with the envy,
of thousands.
Moaning so loud,
their damnations to our creation.
Consume!
Consume!
we pray...
purge and starve!
purge and starve!
they beg...
We push back...the doors to towers.
We push back...their hands empty and cold.
We push forward...with our ceremony,
of two as one.
Drink, Drink!
and be wary...
our longing...

on high.