Poetry: Frustrations

Helpless shitting, that’s what we call it

when you spew your poison, out into the air

with its fascist leanings, but you can’t help yourself

can you, malcontent squabble

that will be your disintegration.

 

Narcissistic poisons elegantly costume kings, evil as they are

already, flamboyant extravagances dance

chained by the neck together, torturing a cripple

like me, convinced of a sleepover

simple Simon sad son, bating hate.

 

The way it is, this is as awful as ever

and ever on it seems, I can barely remember

yesterday anymore, but before I know it

things will be normalized, but I wonder

if sky will remain, blue like fresh clean water

Poetry: Frustrations

Poem: Stone Faces

A warrior facade, that’s what they call it

in the daytime, the mask you put on, a scowling

bucket of crickets or something, crush in’ ‘em

to see killing as an art installation, scowl it off

the nothing you learn, tell yourself

the world is combat, in its heart and soul, if not

its bones, because it seems that some don’t have

to fight for everything, mirror eyes

are the only real

honest to god opponent, that you do and should fight

with pliers and a blowtorch, a couple pipe

hitters, the killer version, a phalanx

amassed on my borders, boxing me in

the tunnel to a nothing monster, I hope one day

I will grow past anger, for now it’s what’s there.

Poem: Stone Faces