In Another Place
In a country of arrogance,
land of unconscious consciousness,
and no one humble,
voices flee even the ghost of truth.
like waves of heat in Saharan plains
and everyone has something
on the tip of their tongue to speak-
noble thoughts, they say -
as they place their soft hands upon
and deceptively caress you.
You pull back
but the reflection in their monochrome eyes
shows your nakedness, your vulnerability.
They want to give you silver
as a gift they think you want;
they want to adorn your body
with sleek linen
while you stand thigh deep
in the excrement of their brutalities .
Compress your eyes and find the lies,
then pull back once again.
And remember truth:
They want to pound nails through your palms
They want to pierce your brow with thorns.
In the valley of gravity,
demons trim the fat of people
from the bones of an earth they seek.
But their sun flickers with impermanence
And those that fed
on the discomfort of others
will weep from painful pores
in this late hour of their soul.
The Middle Time
In the grotto of foreboding the antiheroes spit
into the place where hope once was,
but like leaves in autumn
their tongues fall from a liar's mouth
and decorate the sand.
The End Time
In the histories of arrogance the zealots bond, and
the grace of day will never fall upon them
Darkness will enter their lives
Like millions of black swallows
Diving and looping
Tearing sere flesh from each of them
And they will not even screech in agony
While they die motherless, fatherless, and hopeless.