The Witching Moon's Eye

The witching moon’s eye

opened inside my brain,

shivered in the cold,

dark,

breeze

that flit through my ears,

forging deep into my swollen head,

the eye blinked and shook the dust

off her glossy wings.

Now awake,

I cannot wriggle free

from the visions,

or escape the skulls

lining the sidewalks,

howling for their bodies

that no one seemed

to crave to find.

The golden locks girl

applies her make-up

in the taunting mirror,

paints her face on

to look like all the others

that are lifted up before her

as the examples to be acceptable pretty,

slips neatly into

size zero jeans,

still hating herself for

what she perceives as being fat.

Halter top beauty queens,

finding faults and flaws

in every looking glass

propped up in front of her

and behind,

because this sadistic torture society

wants to teach you

that you always lack,

you are never enough just to be you,

so you will buy more products

to fill the aching void,

as if material could ever quell the lonely.

Silly girl could never be worthy of love and light

until the souls been

sucked out by the consumer system:

plastic dead doll Barbie:

the epitome of the perfected teased tight woman,

strangled in the American dream-

a child’s toy that

will gladly and with great apology

for any inconvenience to the master,

fit itself into the plastic coffined box,

keep its mouth tapped shut,

staple holes where

the eyes of the goddess used to be.

I saw the women around me

chugging diet pills like breath mints,

washing them down with tequila shots,

no lunch or dinner thanks,

laughing at rape jokes

so as not to upset the status quo,

hissing venom at each other,

tearing other women down

to boost their glamour shots

and perceived righteous ratings

for the likes of the porno-minded men

who really just wanted

women who looked like little girls,

for us to beg to be bruised

and broken into tiny pieces

that could be hanged on the mantelpiece

of power lust, greed, and patriarchy.

Fuck the hell hounded media,

the scoffs at any fragment of individuality,

demonizing cures for anxiety and cancer,

heaven forbid a sense of self-worth,

idolizing violence,

rape and pillage tactics,

concrete aggressive erections,

faked orgasms to boost pathetic egos,

submissive whispers of women

so as to not disrupt male dominance.

Instead we must enact our luscious,

loud erotic beings,

tearing down the cannibal structures

of wall street,

screeching lusty odes

to awaken our

fellow artists and empaths,

gentle sisters and brothers alike,

marching hand entwined with hand,

to cast out our sick oppressors.

Our time is now,

to writhe open our throbbing pulses

and rise

ghosts from their walking graves,

vampires from their tainted mausoleums,

witches curving and swaying upward

from their burned ashes,

lovers and prophets

thrusting forward,

shouting,

demanding,

the fall of the

capital consumption empire.

Just breathe and know

that you are electric elegance

wrapped up in an angel,

you don’t need their chemical produce

and liquored fantasy bullshit.

You are loverly and exquisite

just as you are. 

Empire Crumble- Rise and Revolt

Taking tea

and precarious refreshments

in the man-made

soiled and sweating

sinkhole,

I squirm and

wriggled out

of the maliced mosh pits and

festering angry faces,

temper tantrums not being cute or helpful

with our own bloodied heads

being used as cement to build more

illness factories and stock market make-up schemes,

teetering towers for the grizzly heads of state.

Cemetery stones whispering

in humming harsh tones

about the rise of melancholy,

choked down,

gasping and gurgling slosh

with tasty teaspoons of

aspartame apathy.

Hierarchy demons propagating

counterfeited fornicating plastic masks,

fed forced and planted upon any

anarchy dandelion

who so much as dared to look

forward,

upward,

move in a direction

of equality and enlightenment.

We were cast out,

imprisoned,

scape goated,

cleverly whistle blown to

the depths of inferno layers

of the powerful fucked,

faked,

fantasy.

ha-

Im.

Not.

Buying.

Plastic credit

giving us selfish egoed fame,

dizzying delusional highs of

commercial catastrophe

and seeping drama addiction.

I spent my morning sick

to my bleeding stomach,

purging propaganda

and patronizing patriarchy,

giving then instead my

fierce and frightening

energies to revolt

in seas of pleasured nuances,

pure moaning breathing soft

on the neck ecstasy

with the simple act of awakening,

choosing to fight

psycho-pathetic doctrine,

a staggering wake up to

police state falsified forensics,

brutal tactics of paranoia

and serial brutality.

Gnashing our battered teeth

together in blazing brilliant protest

against sick greed and powerlust supremacy.

The time is ticking close

to the programed wires of the greenback filth machine,

thus the craving necessity to stand up,

no more bowed heads

in chemical injected reverence to the

sick hydra headed kings

with their sadistic twisted grins,

humiliation inflicted on the disenfranchised,

thus to aid the jacking off of suited men

in pristine golden armored bathrooms,

pentagrams and pentagons.

We shout loud and vicious,

screaming down walls thicker

than even Jericho could muster,

throwing down the privileged powerful

where they sleep and smirk at our

pain and agony.

Together we unshackle

our young and each other,

shaking the sleazy elite

from their frothing habits of

murder and cover-up covergirls,

rapes and muttering adrenaline fueled mass graves.

We turn our smiling roughed edged faces,

without fucking permission-

towards the sun,

into a new dawning age

of collective spirit and

freedom for all people.

Awake, we now must Rise.

Ecstasy and Ocean

Sirens,

the blues and bass,

cigarettes,

espresso shots,

drinking tequila

in the shower,

in the morning,

were all telltale

signs of the apocalypse,

that enjoyed teasing us,

with the weather

and paranoia.

Skulls dancing

on skulls,

the poisoned bite

festers until

I suck it out,

skin and burning,

pleasured open mouths,

holy sacraments,

yummy fucks,

witches and their cocktails,

long showers

with the water so hot

it melted the pain

right away,

with the tears,

and the tortured angels,

their wings,

clipped short and scattered

to the four corners

of the grounded earth,

to avoid their own

awakenings into

lovely sculptures

of vast divinity,

that wrapped its legs

around me,

sunk in deep,

to the notion of motion,

rising up and out

of the quagmire,

labyrinthed illuminati

thunderings

from the cement

above us,

that had almost been forgotten,

except for it shook

the rafters

of even the stock marketeers

and the banks

of the green piglets

and the running bulls of

violence

begetting

violence,

aggression spat out

at each other

like acid rain.

Enough of those

hollow egos

teething golden udders

that collapsed the

world around them,

pandemics and

mayhem,

injections and

rabid inscriptions

on brains,

that drove us all mad

and fucking yes,

into that brilliant

ecstasy of the ocean. 

Anarchy Body

Giving gentle thanks

to the bright blood

cardinal,

that sings daily

outside my window,

the trees teaching

me earth breathing,

I felt the ancients with

their old ground n

fire languages,

soothe my aching skin,

sleep deeply,

for even just

a breath,

then the world glows alive

with resonance and wicked beauty,

made me yearn for something

more.

And look,

I know you

with rolling eyes,

deep sighs,

slurping down

beer bottles in

kitchens with

pastels,

cow motifs and

casual heroin,

cups and saucers,

daydreaming in

wrathful colors,

squirming round

in your sleep,

damn honey,

the lonely starting

to fuck with you,

start seeing strange creatures

crawling through even stranger

nightmares,

seeing lies instead of truths,

weeping willows,

blah blah blah,

shut your goddamn head up,

if you can,

dances in the dark,

headphones and

cats and tears on pillows,

softly,

wrapped up snuggly

in heavy blankets,

amidst a heat wave,

to wreak out the

memory of touch.

Ah!

such weary aching

and untapped sweet magic

could change the world,

if we could just

get out of bed,

in the morning,

with vast

coffee cups

and

scribbled poems,

tattered clothes,

let us tear our masks off,

together,

show our bloodied noses,

our busted eyes,

our broken eardrums,

and those scars

tell a history,

experiences survived,

they don’t define

your future,

my dear.

Sunshine stepping,

We unveil,

standing naked,

in our tears and

beat down bones,

we commune

in light and love and pain,

then to awaken,

anarchy bodied,

divinity dancing

out the tops of our head,

through our fancy fingers,

deep throats,

weak elbows,

bent knees,

healing feet.

Come in.

Thunder

Through all the crazy,

the bullshit,

drama queens

in their giant machine

dreams,

my little brothers

taught me infinite

old soul wisdom,

far more than

all your harsh ramblings,

disguised,

albeit well,

as awakenings.

I see through you

to the other side.

I dare you,

stand in my dreams,

demented demons,

and just try it,

to tease me away

from my focus.

I shall not

leave here,

until cancer is washed out,

disease showing

a system malfunction,

spooky hallucinations,

brainwash drugs,

killer instincts,

drowning, in symptoms,

fear-mongers

hiding

in fields of poppies,

right there,

in broad fucking

daylight,

I can see you

Monster,

must exorcize you

out the body,

out the mind,

out the spirit.

We had enough

poisoned teacake

for now,

thanks.

Headed towards the

light,

my angels,

we are birthing

new cathartic rites and rights,

terrific transformations,

organic organizations,

righteous rebellions,

fight off the

fevered flies

festering at your skin,

our breath,

slows,

shaking loose

chains,

tearing down

prison walls,

together

we walk brethren

forward,

or not at all.

In the rain,

mixed with spices,

we

came down,

like thunder,

on the brilliant earth,

spines entangled,

magic moments

in which

lucid visions

lead the way

to revolution.

The graveyard bones

of our ancestors

rise

in holy places,

to fight as one

against the wrangled wraths

of this so-called

golden age, ha.

Bombs falling on

my babies,

I cried out,

why,

how could our

mothers bare it?

The sight

had me

curled up

on the attic floor

sobbing,

your blindness

astounds me to headaches

and nausea,

lusting guns breeding

nothing more than lusting guns,

violence from our hands

shook the rafters

of our brittle heaven, and

frightened the

weather into

patterns befitting

a madhouse,

what a mockery of the

heaven,

possible on earth, that

I saw through the eye of a needle,

found the morning after,

as I stirred my tea.

The serpent

opens

the one

red eye

he owns,

hunted down a

hurricane and raped

her for it,

he hisses

paranoia out

on the masses,

like a drunk fog.

Year after year,

history after bloodbath history,

we think we can

FIGHT off fear,

cut it down

with weapons and

gritty machines,

with ugly words to others,

nasty slurrings,

hanging good men,

to prove what?

That you could death-out

the piece of him that you

saw in the mirror,

the piece of you

that wouldn’t die, 

dont be absurd.

Point that gun in

my face,

and I outright laughed at the thought.

To think I would obey

such a silly act?

Power with metal and anger

is illusion, you fool,

cant threaten me with death

for we take tea every Thursday

and she speaks of her sorrows and

I hold her in her sleep,

while she screams and shivers,

oh what horrid visions must flit

through that lovely little head,

I know her well and

thus,

from your rage,

I am free.