Inspired Madness

Fly, Philomela,
Away from here.
glide over famished oceans,
rivers mere appetizers.
While a generation of induced madness
crumbles away.

Drifting away with the boys,
lager and stout,
Troubles forgotten and troubles reborn,
While pernicious suitors gaze
through foggy lenses.
You are quick-toungued,
Lady Disdain.

Screaming bloody battle
desire not Christ nor purity,
Valhalla is our stop.
Wounds received and recovered,
women desired and replaced.
Unsex me

Listless eys stare off
far from here,
sheets crumbled, floor littered,
with clothes not carpet.
Lips bitten and mind empty
And she will sleep and I will leave.
How rude.

Fly, Philo

Over a reality boxed and shipped,
where happiness is prescribed and distributed.
While I escape the flames and ashes,
Carthage,
with a helix of history on my back.


Stand screaming, hammer in hand,
sweat pouring, bloody shields,
Ragna Rock.
Reality on an eyelash, waiting,
to be blinked out of existence.

I will brood over my superficial throne,
waiting for the illiterate rebellion,
How far is the fall, Cronos?
How far?

River runs past Adam and Eve and into the unquenchable ocean,
teeth in red flesh and juicy grain.
Pleasure with a price, Vicomte de Valmont.
If only she died after, the battle has not been fought,
If only she would have died after the forest marched,
I would have mourned her.
I would have.
How rude.
Fly.

A vast empty Waste Land, feels claustrophobic.
Meaning is trite, intellignece doesn't sell.
We will be remembered as a nasty sickness
that afflicted the world.
The gods laugh at our inability to see futility.

Sorry Joyce,
Sorry Eliot,
Sorry Ezra.

One day we will not forget ourselves.
I promise.
We will embrace again and feel flesh
and skin and breath and pulses
and yes it will be ours
and yes it will be real
and yes
and yes