hellsforheroes

First of all, any time, any place Madi, I got your back, plus a pretty decent shoulder if you need it...and on a total other note...this here piece is called...


Piss on the Pour

I havent had that wild feeling in my heart
There are no howling monkeys
My mouth is a dry drip shy of lips
Good and fucking kissed

My stomach hasnt tried to carry me away in ages
Is there a difference, migration, immigration?
I dont think I feel anything anymore
Define hopeful

The words havent ripped me apart to be down in hemoglobin
Consciousness and my chakra have gone deaf, mute
The clouds of green-housed Venus have become a wastelands eyes
My eyes, see skeletons and thorns, and blurred deliverance

My only friend is the needled stump
He is hollow with water, envious of my empty chest
It is my fucking reality, tin man
Nighttime is as quiet as my will

Am I suppose to throw rice at crows
Should I bed the banshees for being the only soloists
Does it matter?
Maybe I should break their hearts again, single file massacred

I know too well of my lifestyle
I know what picturesque sword a combatant must wield and of what skill
If anything to fight the polymorphic demons I demand
Least of all, to look the part of rogue retrofit religion

And that is why there is no fire, no milky way Eureka eyes
No one waking warm and sleeping bag damp, nude
There is not a heart beat but sleeping flannel on dusty wind
With no wood, but drifting, gallows pile knotted serpents

I feel Eli Wallach thirsty in a Leone film
Stones blessing sobriety, rocks preaching
Of a million millions and a million more
Of anything brave any more

Nightmares of Molotov cocktails substituting for water
Kerosene giving sympathy
Not a match in sight
Heaven has no fire, let alone any spark

So I will pound on the fossick earth, shifting furze
Maybe my salt water will suffice as Aztec blood
Electromagnetism, but I have only one masons jar
Maybe I will be the ironic pyre

Maybe I will carry my sacred lute haphazardly
And reminisce about gala squandered to mandrake mandolin
Or serenade of promenades, out of tune
Garden of fancy, cyanide in the soil

Very well, I am afraid of horses
She, and she will, have to be a bonny knight
I am a wreck Noah, no covenant left
I am the remains after a great flood