Medusa
The Hoplite washed upon dread shores
Beyond civilized comforts and mores
His comrades dead, with them the carrion fed
Wielding shield and spear,
He looked upon her and did not freeze
Her eyes lost the hue of rage, and tears rolled down that shrouded face
He dropped his weapons, undid his armor
She was a stone-faced Hypatia, losing her time with the Antikythera mechanism
Stung by her hair's poison
He lay with Medusa in consummate union
In a flash of a reaction, for which she could not be faulted
She ate his heart at dawn
Burned him in the shadows of Pasargadae
Scattering his ashes in the wake of Alexander
He knew paradise, Ctesiphon was built on the spot
3
Sylvan-taught prophets sing nigh of doom
A technacalypse looms
While sylvan twins Romulus and Rhemus woo
Lonely Nature swoons
Aegis of progression beyond the biological continuum
Evolution willed onto another course
The Luddites are sipping cyanide while the air grows cancerous
The classes are hungry, carnivorous
Flipping the switch of self disrupt, here rises new man
Occult is humanism, gone with the human
Bosons godlike beyond the birthing sheen of luminescence
Existence before essence, this kinesthetic putrescence
Everyman is left in the shadow
Fetor of the meek rotting on the carcass of the ages low
Mortality- even this concept was mortal
Rising like the echoes of the dead, consciousness rises from bodies corporal
Double helix broken and molded- the binary of gods was made ours and encoded
Slake, slake, mother earth yearns, and her crust quakes
Man, what is he but a slave to the state
....
Calling humanity on the horizon
A shadow of the reaper casting his dim across the errant rays of sun
Catatonic, not asleep, alive but dreaming
Behind the calm mask of manly serenity, he is screaming
Mad- madness the meek are making
Below the boiling frog, the pot is quaking
Awake, to find he is in a coffin
the hell of our own making, the core of corruption
Sheep Herded then sheared, weeping with pathetic eyes
With this there is no compromise
It is a dreadful surmise
To his own surprise
He finds it was better to have been sleeping
To Eternally Recur-
Here Odysseus lost his way
Among sirens songs, he is shipwrecked at the waning of the day
A haggard old soul carries a wayward wisdom
Dark always overpowers light; cold the warmth
Life is an abortion, now comes man's time, the species is done
The hairless ape
Only a mistake
Metaphysics, open your legs
Beautiful Ideal- you are raped
Ill leave you beneath the smeared lipstick and duct tape
The old man falcons with an eagle
This end is only a preview
All convulsion, usurpation, of one Time into another
For another cosmos this dying universe is mother
Birth shall be post mortal
July 4th
God Bless America
Wincing with every bang, and the lightning rolls like the artillery
Not just a metaphor
Incoming, inbound,
Thoughts racing with the shadows of the hounds of war
A husk, a flailed piece of flesh, a hollow shell of sentient meat
Sleep walking in existence, seeing all of it in third person
There are nothing but nihilists who make it out of the foxholes
incapacity to speak, to love, to have and to hold
The eyes are the window to the soul and I see nothing
nothing
where was god
god was there
haji mufti mullah
We fed the kids candy bars and left a trail of DU
Even my friends died for Allah
Buried in some plot, slayed in some desert
Mothers who will never stop crying
God damn America
The lost soul, like Some kind of nomad
Left sleeping under that old hag
While demons go chirping in the night
And the old dead rise up and fight
From the slimes of hell the demiurge draws the schemas of eternal pain
Left soulless and weeping the living just remain
In a fog of life interlaced with a lie
That it all ends when we lay down to die
Confusion and moral stain
Stinking with the revenants on hells’ plain
For the devil rules this realm
A prime mover after he justly fell
Balan watches the assembled norsemen who still believe they are in Vahalla
Where they battle Eternally with the Ghazis of Allah
Lost in repeat, beyond the moment when their consciousness switched off
The Captains of Hell dine in the presence of the Medici pope
Cutting the bodies of the hapless Saints
Pederasts and popery, hoarding the fool's gold of evangelical TV preachers
Satan's palace has many rooms
The way is wide, a four lane highway, with off-ramps to eternal doom
