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.