inter arma enim silent leges

what insane work is this we undertake daily

to free ourselves from freedom to clip cuffs

around our reddened wrists to shackle our

god given right to fly free over the rivers of

babylon to soar into the skies and talk to the



what futile resistance we place like

rotten fences, barriers around our souls while

smiling and laughing and dying bit by bit

in front of our children and our wives and our mothers.


what is this crushed dream we snort from mirrors

reflecting back another man entirely,

from phone books we never use,

from philosophy texts we leave scattered around

our straw and shit apartments hoping for the right

flower to come along and bloom for us.


how highly we place our cars and our phones

on pedestals built on bones and words and feelings.


how lowly we place our atonement and our hail mary’s,

how easily brushed to the side when the next clean chrome dildo

spews forth from america, ready to fuck us and fuck you.


how wide we spread our legs to let big brother enter us

and strain so softly, exploding fountains of blinding jism

into our willing wombs and swollen stomachs.


we settle down each night to watch television.


we settle down each night to watch the news.


we are cawed and crowed by jet black ravens until we become road kill

waiting to be pecked and fucked by vultures and wine bars and gambling.


we forget our manners we forget our memories we forget where we came from

the rib the bang the reincarnation the ground the trees the blinkers


the blinkers oh the blinkers


we wear to drown out the radiance emitting from each other like sun block

smothered on our very being until we can no longer decide between rape and rescue,

until we beckon the monolithic bullshit like it was an old friend we meet again over dinner.


the sustained reverb of existence is waiting,

waiting for us to tune ourselves in to the endless stream of consciousness

drifting overhead like a massive cloud of subatomic joy

but the tuning forks are held by unaccountable cunts and freaks

gulf stream maniacs and spitting morons soiling themselves,

clawing their yellowed fingernails

on our chests every single day and

if god exists he will be crying and

if buddha exists he will be crying and

if allah exists he will be crying and

if vishnu exists he will be crying

and the tears and blood of all of our deities

would fall from the sky like plasma

and coat every inch of our beings until we could breathe no longer

and only then would we truly live.

◄ borealis haiku

rope ►


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Stu Buck

Sun 10th Jul 2016 20:55

cheers ray. life does indeed go on. how fruitless our attempts at parity!

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Sun 10th Jul 2016 19:34

Half plea half attack half defence - that makes 150% poem. Great lines especially tuning forks ...... an incredible smorgasbord of imagery.

And life goes on.


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Stu Buck

Sun 10th Jul 2016 19:04

thanks! glad you liked it. sometimes down and dirty is the best way!


Sun 10th Jul 2016 18:27

I think this is absolutely brilliant, Stu..lots of real down and dirty imagery to effect disillusionment with these small worlds man makes.


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