Lies of the Old Television Set
do not shoot for the stars
throw bottles at them
keep them out of your yard
the stars want you to
play their game
their way
and have none of your
interests in mind
people are whispering
we are made of star dust
they are us
the only thing
we have in common
with the stars
is how bright we shine
when we quit shooting for them
Chief Balls to the Wall Officer
the slim computer
telling your fortune
like a spike into your skill
plots your demise
vibrating electricity
into your platform heels
here comes the car
full speed
not heading for you
you’re driving
the pedal
won’t go down further
it’s melted to the floor
Ballin’ on Suicide
descends gently
a lotus flower
into my throat
as I look into the mirror
my reflection screaming
why would you not kill him?
why not take his life?
they all deserve to die
En guard
anger does not rust
it rebuilds us
forging us from impure dreams
the ash on our backs
blown off burning roofs
chile powder on my cappuccino
keen senses slip off the tabletop
into the abyss
in the abyss we press
our thumbs into the enemy’s eyes
dig deep into their holes
to pull out a dozen roses
for our loved one
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