Their libel

Punk rock epithets written on the back of ceiling, fans, words, you. never see

Subliminal airwaves blowing heat around in a crowd surfing sea

I watched Gothenburg burning.
City in dis ease

I related
Should. to the ones
I’m supposed to. (Be) Realize.
I have families

Don’t wear a gun to a knife fight
I never realized the anger of the freed

A partial tear in the fabrication
A blizzard in

July anomaly

Single phase boxer pop

From the lamp to and across the floor,

To the wall for some light for the.

Bring light through the door

Just within the reach across floorboards

Pulled into her cage by Bella dog

And she chewed right through the cord

Creations striations socket copper mesh

Charged that metal prison she had no effing chance

Perfect accident.

Evacuated bowels incensed

bladder smells immense

Roasted poochie burning hair

static energy

Electric air

Not realizing the situation I grabbed ahold as well

&whiteflash&knucklesclenched&Nbsp$(POP!&sizzlepfffffffffft

[cut scene]

Flashing lights on the blinds. My face warm, the floor cold on my back) I hear a fly

It occurs to me we will never really know why we are here. There are literally societies of bacteria living on my teeth

In a daze away some minutes passed

During the fall.

I pulled the cage from the wall

Urine soaked and caked in dog shit fingers punched right through a tennis ball

My pants around my ankles and I’m 10:feet down the hall

My eyes won’t even blink they sting acrid. Dry and

Oh my god that fucking smell

I realize my phones been ringing. Some messages the LED blinking

Can’t open my hands and I’m still pissing. Piss bzzzzzzzzt

thinking

It’s my wife. She wants to know if I’ll be on time.

With the cake.

Stage 1. Dinner party

I didn’t

We never do

Know what to say

I stole a glance there

See if anything changed.

They felt a lump

He came in the room and with one arm

From behind

Hugged you. Kissed your head. Made it real

For a few seconds nothing moved. I wished I had done that

We all went back to cutting celery.

Replacing batteries.

Talking politics and weathervanes

The last straw

If

you could feed yourself

From Across the table

You would not starve

You chose not

to feed your neighbor

For he was. Not you

So instead drink

from

their

spoon

They feed you so as not

To let you die

there you are all alone with a tube

Down your throat

A straw taped to your arm

Fake plastic trees

Some balloons. Beeping

AlarmS

Given half the chance

If you love me

turn that spoon around now

Rooted for

I took a (photograph)?

Of human waste. The foulest

Rind

When up-near-the sun.

I’d seen the earth. Was bored of

That

K

I

N

D

Celebrities kept dying

Without roots in the ground

No personal touches with personal

Clutche(s)

We loose what we came to find

That rain dies an awful death the sun it

Couldn’t “shouldn’t” shine

So big the tree topples. The largest leaves

Browned in the ground

While on salty bones

#theolddogsdined

Her majesty. Green dripping promises of life to bring

Well. Without branches intertwined

The music that they sing. The words and drumbeats

echoing

Play to no 1 pay no

Mind

The trigger

Without empowered women you’ve limited yourself against us academically.

Militarily. Engine earring.

Injun. Ear.

Rings.

Hit the like button wipe your ass spray some perfume

And punch someone else’s clock

Escape the womb

“Boss makes a dollar I make a dime”

Steadily the drone takes aim

Takes it’s time

“Another day another dollar”

Another day in parasites

40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam! – Day 17 – “Heed the Prophets”

Words from a flowing faucet.
C.P. a brother.
A prophet.

ProCrasstheNation

Image Link

“Heed the Prophets, Heed the Poets”

Heed the prophets.

The end of civilizationis upon us.

Their words are upon bathroom stalls.

Their words are in the signature lines of group emails.

They speak to us from the grave.

Their souls are stretched out over time.

Sacrificing sobriety and credibility to catch a glimpse of the future.

Shunned and derided for being canaries in coal mines.

Practical pariahs putting forth possibility.

Mystical meat driving a flock away from madness.

Do tell!

Heed the Poets.

Line and meter in constant repetitious flow.

Metaphor before understanding.

Grasp their intent, devour it.

Regurgitate it forged in fire.

Touch the tips of all the unlit candles,

So that they may burn.

Word-weapons wielded against the growing apathy of consumerism.

Deadened senses need resurrection.

Beat, Slam, Read-Riot, Chapper,

Do tell!

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