Broken Beer Bottles

where to begin is in the confusion of the mind…it starts when you’re completely alone, the ticking beating breathing (get on with the dying already.) take the bad news as a sign of the times, of crossed lines, of a bar coded existence, of failed dreams and the big lie…our haunted corroded eyes in the mourning sun from defeated bleeding sidewalks of Newark to empty heartland factories of Detroit, hurricane green seas of Mexico to the old world deserts of the Middle East, the genocide of Mother Africa. (it’s all so uplifting.) peril is in the air, taste it in the water, feel it in the ground beneath you, keep an ear out and hope for a new day when the ones screaming or with no voice at all find a new meaning, a new passion, a new dope…our modern illness is mental, the drones following one another with no lord or leader no prophet no mess sigh uhhh just two boards. look to your holy walls and floors, holy lighting fixtures, holy high definition. holy wars…the truth is in the liar like the bite of an apple is to original sin (and the genetic inevitability of tragedy hate greed.) my addiction is tired today, i think i’ll bring my burdens with me and carry them from my hole in the wall out to the city, a city divided by kolor kreed klass…the thoughts of a flooding end to wash away this mess we call the US, comfort in knowing my heavy heart is half-sold and my soul is the only collateral i’ve got and ever had…i stopped counting the minutes long ago (now the days just seem longer.)